Homecoming Hearts Series Collection

by HJ Welch

  It really could have been quite wonderful if it hadn’t been allowed to fall into disrepair. There was a foot of snow over the triangular roof of the main lodge. The building itself was made out of timber. The resort’s sign had a Scandinavian look to the lettering and the whole picture reminded Ashby of a Christmas card, despite it being early April. Icicles hung from the wooden beams and lanterns. If only the owners had kept up the replacement of blown bulbs, he could have overlooked the cracks and peeling paint on the door and window frames.

  Ashby shuddered against the wind buffeting against him and decided he’d gawped at the outside of the building long enough. Time to check out the inside. At least there were a couple of cars parked outside, so he knew he wasn’t the only guest. He disposed of his empty coffee cup by the entrance, then hauled his heavy suitcase over the snow and pushed against the door to let himself in.

  He found himself inside a very bland lobby. A gust of freezing wind accompanied him inside, making the half a dozen people milling around turn and look at him as he struggled to shut the door again. He tried not to blush under their scrutiny. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  The guests on the floor went back to their business as Ashby unwound one of his long, woolen scarves. He used the moment to take in his surroundings.

  Again, the place had probably been lovely a decade or two ago. There were wooden beams everywhere, a large fireplace, and although they weren’t to Ashby’s personal taste, he could see why the stuffed buck heads on the walls would suit the aesthetic. But they were dusty. The upholstery on the many sofas and armchairs littered about the room was faded and frayed. The plastic plants looked cheap and ugly.

  But the fire was roaring in the fireplace. Ashby smiled as what looked like a couple of grandparents showed their small grandchild, wearing enormous glasses, how to hold their hands up to the flames to warm them safely. The architecture of the room was well thought out and the large windows probably showed the snowy mountains beyond to their full advantage during the daytime. Chatter filled the air as well as relaxing country music. He found himself smiling despite his apprehensions. It may not be the sort of accommodation he was used to, but he could certainly see beyond the slightly shabby surface and take the resort for what it was.

  A getaway. A sanctuary.

  “Hi there,” said an extremely perky young woman as he approached the reception desk. She was in her mid-thirties and had her blonde hair in a short bob around her ears. Her uniform was an unflattering brownish red color with too-large shoulder pads, but it was pristine and she evidently wore it with pride. “Are you checking in?”

  Her name badge read ‘Kadie.’ Ashby smiled and unwound another scarf. “Yes, thank you,” he said. He pulled his reservation details out from his carryon. “The name’s Ashby Wilcott.”

  Her green eyes sparkled. “Oh, wow,” she said. “I love your accent. You sound like Harry Potter.”

  Ashby chuckled. “I never got my Hogwarts letter though, much to my dismay.”

  Kadie laughed. “Me neither. I would have made a great Hufflepuff.”

  Ashby gasped and placed his hand on his chest. “Me too,” he proclaimed.

  Kadie continued grinning as she brought up his reservation on her big, boxy computer. “Okay, Mr. Wilcott. Ah, it says you’ll be staying with us for three whole weeks. That’s wonderful!” She seemed genuinely delighted by the prospect as she fetched an actual key for his room. “There you go. Is it just yourself staying with us?”

  “Yes, no boyfriend this time,” Ashby said with a chuckle. Then he froze, horror holding him captive. What the hell? Why had he just outed himself to a total stranger? Panic threatened to overrun him.

  Katie’s eyes went wide, her hand hovering midair with the key she was still offering. “O-oh,” she said, her cheeks going pink. “Oh, um, no, that’s fine. Sorry, I’ve never met a, um, well, a gay man before.” She whispered the last part like she was afraid they might be overheard. But she smiled broader at him and tucked her short hair behind her ear. “You know, I love that makeover show. The one where the gay guys come in and fix everything.”

  Ashby felt himself relax again as she flipped the key in her hand, presenting him with the circular end to take. “Oh, yes,” he said nodding. “That’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

  She laughed nervously and stared at him with wonder. “Well, okay, Mr. Ashby. You’re in room thirteen on the first floor. You come find me if there’s anything you need, okay? I’ll be happy to help.” She bit on her thumbnail and laughed again.

  Ashby couldn’t help but be relieved. Rather than treating him like a leper, she was practically enamored with him. Like he was something special when in truth he was just him. It was kind of sweet. He certainly preferred it to being asked to leave on account of him being a filthy pervert. He let out a breath and waved the key at her before turning to head toward his room.

  There was no elevator and if there were any bell-hops they weren’t around. So Ashby had to lug his enormous suitcase up the one and only flight of stairs to the first floor. The corners were extremely tight, and one of the steps was slightly uneven compared to the rest, causing Ashby to trip and fall onto the carpet. He lost his grip on the suitcase and it flipped backwards, sliding down several steps.

  Ashby huffed and blew his hair out of his eyes. Despite being overly tired from traveling and generally on edge from the whole Gordon thing, he refused to get upset. So what if he fell over? No one had seen. He just needed to pick himself up and go find his room. Soon enough he could snuggle up in bed.

  With renewed determination, he hauled the luggage up the last few steps and made it to the landing. But his troubles only continued as he dragged his suitcase down the hall, squinting at the numbers. Had he gone the wrong way? They seemed to start at twenty. But Kadie on the front desk had definitely said the first floor.

  Once he got to the fire escape at the end and established there was definitely no room thirteen, he shook his head and turned around, determined to check again. He gritted his teeth. He just wanted to take his shoes off now and maybe brush his teeth.

  “You okay there, sweetie?”

  Ashby stopped and turned around to see a plump middle-aged woman in a big, puffy coat walking toward him. She had curly graying brown hair, multicolored horn-rimmed glasses and wore her bag slung over her shoulder like she was on her way out. Or home, perhaps? That looked like some sort of uniform under her coat.

  “I, uh,” said Ashby.

  Suddenly his resolve not to get upset threatened to abandon him. He knew it was the jetlag overwhelming him, but Gordon’s voice perked up in the back of his head telling him that he was so useless. He couldn’t even find his bloody room!

  Ashby swallowed that spiteful thought and tried his best to smile at the woman. “I can’t seem to find my room,” he said. “The lovely lady at reception said room thirteen was on the first floor, but I can’t seem to see it. Is there another staircase, do you know?”

  The woman with the multicolored glasses reached him and patted his arm. She was a good foot shorter than him. “Oh, honey,” she said with a grimace. “That’s because you’re on the second floor.”

  “No, I-” Ashby began. Then he snapped his mouth shut as the realization washed over him. “Oh,” he said meekly. “You see, in the UK, this would be the first floor and, well, downstairs would be the ground floor.”

  “Yeah,” said the woman kindly. “That’s really dumb. You want me to help you find your room? I just cleaned it not an hour ago. It’s all spick-and-span.”

  Ashby sighed, ridiculously grateful. “That would be lovely,” he admitted. “Oh, no, you don’t have to!” he squeaked as the woman took ahold of his suitcase and began marching down the hallway.

  “Come on, James Bond,” she said. “You look dead on your feet.”

  Ashby had to chuckle as he trotted behind her. “I do feel like the back end of a bus,” he admitted.

  The woman barked out a laugh as she heaved the suitcase bac
k down the stairs. She seemed to be doing better at carrying it than Ashby had been. “That’s a hell of a saying. We don’t get many Brits here, you know?”

  “Really?” Ashby said. “Well, this place is-” he caught himself before he was rude “-very nice indeed.”

  The woman scoffed. “Oh, you’re a charming one, all right,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him as they reached the ground – or first – floor again. “I’m Maeve,” she said. “Worked here for over a decade, so you don’t need to be polite.”

  Ashby glanced at the dingy walls as they walked along the hall. These rooms started at number one. “Well, I guess a lick of paint couldn’t hurt,” he conceded. Maeve cackled with laughter.

  “You staying here for long, cutie?” she asked.

  “Three weeks,” he said as they approached his room. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you around? I’m Ashby, by the way.”

  Maeve stopped in front of room thirteen and held out her hand. “Three weeks?” she said as Ashby dutifully gave her his key. “Wow, a pretty guy like you. What are you hiding out here in the mountains for?”

  To his utter mortification, tears sprung in Ashby’s eyes. Damn this jetlag. He didn’t care about Gordon! He wasn’t heartbroken. He was just reeling from all the sudden changes. He did his best to blink and clear his throat. “Just fancied a change of scenery,” he said weakly.

  Maeve didn’t miss a thing, though. “Oh, hon,” she said. Her shoulders dropped and her expression was one of sympathy. “Come on, tell me all about it.”

  She unlocked his door and shooed him inside before dragging his suitcase in after them. Ashby was ashamed to admit it, but he wasn’t very good at being on his own. The idea of some company, even from someone he’d just met, was wonderful. “Aren’t you on your way home?” he protested weakly.

  Maeve blew a raspberry at him. “My cats can wait a while longer,” she said, then pointed to the small table and chairs in the room. “Sit. I’d offer you tea, but I’m guessing it’ll taste like dishwater compared to what you guys make. Something stronger?”

  Ashby sniffed and wiped his eyes as he laughed and plopped into the seat. “I wouldn’t say no to a gin and tonic,” he said.

  Maeve shrugged off her old green coat to reveal a pink housekeeper’s uniform underneath. While she rummaged in the minibar, Ashby looked around the room that was to be his home for the next three weeks. The walls were the same grayish white and the carpets the same brownish gray as the lobby. The faded pine table where he was sitting stood next to an equally starved-looking dresser with a clunky microwave on top. Above the table a small TV was mounted on the wall. Ashby was amazed it was a flat screen.

  The bed looked comfy, though, and from what Ashby had seen he guessed, his window had a good view of the mountains. This would do just fine, he was sure.

  Maeve placed a very full plastic tumbler of gin and tonic in front of him on the table along with bags of peanuts and some cheesy corn-chip things. She herself had a glass of neat whiskey in her hand as he sat down next to him. “So,” she said, shifting on the pine chair to get comfy. “Who broke your heart?”

  Ashby scoffed and downed half his drink in one glug. “Is it that obvious?” he asked. He winced as the alcohol burned his throat slightly, but in a sort of pleasant way.

  “Yeah, hon,” Maeve said with a nod. “A mom knows these things. Got four kids of my own, even some grandbabies. You wanna see?”

  “Do I ever,” he said with genuine enthusiasm.

  She whipped out her phone, proud as punch. He oohed and ahhed in all the right places as Maeve flicked through her phone to show him some adorably chubby grandkids of indistinguishable gender. Ashby couldn’t help but have a moment of melancholy, though. He managed to keep his smile in place, but his thoughts turned a little sad.

  Would he ever have kids? It was so much easier for opposite-sex couples. But so many guys were just interested in fucking rather than settling down, let alone thinking about starting a family. At least in Ashby’s experience.

  He knew he had more than enough time to consider his options and find Mr. Right. He was only twenty-four, so hardly over the hill. But it was hard to imagine a future like that for him when he’d never even lived with a boyfriend before.

  Maeve smiled at him and he wondered if he’d zoned out a little. “Sorry?” he asked.

  “I asked what the bastard’s name was who broke your heart,” she said. She saluted him with her whiskey and downed the glass without even a pause. “He must be a real dick to let you go.”

  For the second time in an hour, Ashby was too scared to move. “H-he?” he stammered.

  Maeve gave him a warm smile and patted his hand. “A mom knows these things,” she said again. “You come here to get away from men?” Ashby didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. She snorted and opened up the peanuts for them. “Good choice. No men for anyone up here.”

  Ashby blew out a sigh of relief. It was bad enough he was scared of what Gordon might do once he realized Ashby really had left him for good this time. He didn’t want to be starting anything unpleasant with the resort staff on the very first day of his getaway as well. “Thank you,” he whispered as she pushed the peanut packet over to him. But he wasn’t really thanking her for that.

  She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. “I’ve been divorced ten whole years,” she said firmly. “Best damn thing I ever did. Want to tell me about him?”

  Ashby definitely didn’t want to talk about Gordon. He wanted to forget they had ever met. He was embarrassed to think how stupid he’d been to ever allow himself to get involved with a man like that. He could see it all so clearly now.

  “No,” he said, managed a small smile. “He was a bad egg.”

  Maeve nodded as she refilled both their glasses from more of the minibar miniatures. “They are out there, sweetheart.”

  Ashby raised his glass. “To staying away from bad eggs,” he said. She grinned and clinked her glass to his.

  “Amen to that, sugar,” she said. “Don’t worry. You’ll find a good one, one day. Someone who’ll treat you like a superstar.”

  Ashby leaned his head back against his seat. The alcohol was already hitting his system and he felt his shoulders relaxing. He gazed at Maeve. “Is that what you did?” he asked. “Found a better guy after the divorce?”

  Maeve scoffed and took another swig of her whiskey. “Oh, no, honey. That’s what cats are for.” She winked. “For company, I mean. All you need is a vibrator for anything else.”

  Ashby spat his drink back out into his glass and coughed so much Maeve had to slap him on the back, all while she continued to cackle wickedly.

  “Blimey,” he said once he could speak again. “Well, I guess I know what to do if I don’t find Mr. Right.”

  But Maeve shook her head, her expression a little more serious. “Don’t you worry. A nice boy like you? You’ll be just fine,” she assured him. “But some time alone up here will no doubt do you good.”

  Ashby wasn’t so sure. Aside from his wealth and the looks he was born with, deep down he suspected Gordon was right. He was pretty unremarkable.

  “I thought I might try finding myself,” he admitted sheepishly. Maybe he would have something of substance if he looked hard enough.

  But Maeve raised an eyebrow at him. “Hell yeah. You do that, baby.”

  “This didn’t seem like the kind of place that drew a young crowd,” Ashby said. “I was hoping to avoid a party scene.”

  Maeve sighed. “Yep, nothing exciting ever happens around here. You’ll be safe.”

  She sounded sad. It was probably a little dull if this was your job. Considering how far away the towns were and how much she’d already drunk, Ashby wondered if she lived onsite, too.

  Selfishly, safe, dull and a lack of men were exactly what he wanted. But maybe he could make a friend or two while he was here.

  He held his glass up again for her to clink once more. “Here’s to a goo
d holiday,” he said. “And new friends.”

  They tapped glasses. “I’ll drink to that,” said Maeve with a wink.

  5

  Trent

  Trent looked down at the large St. Bernard puppy squirming on his lap in the cab and wondered for the hundredth time if this wasn’t the worst idea he had ever had. Over the years, Trent had indulged in some truly spectacularly bad ideas. But this could possibly make the top ten.

  The puppy was wriggling and wagging his tail and licking Trent’s hand like he had never been happier in his whole, short life. “How could I think you’re a bad idea?” Trent mumbled into the little dude’s fur. Or, not-so-little. He weighed more than Trent’s luggage, he was almost certain.

  Trent took a breath and reminded himself again that the fact that there had been a St. Bernard breeder in Jackson, Wyoming, with a litter ready to go and just one pup left the very week Trent had come home, was a sign from the universe he wasn’t willing to ignore. Even if this was a dumb idea, the stars had aligned for him and there was no going back now.

  He looked out at the weak midday sunshine reflecting blindingly off the endless fucking snow and sighed. The only good thing about this weather was that it meant snowboarding, something Trent intended to do a lot of while he was here. The resort didn’t have a gym, so he was going to struggle to stay in shape during his stay. The best he’d been able to do was order a set of weights for his cabin.

  His dad knew he was coming. Trent suspected that Barry had phoned Trenton James Charles Sr. in the couple of days it had taken Trent to fly out here and smoothed the way. Or tried to, at least. But in any case, Trent’s dad had emailed him to let him know that the resort had a staff cabin he could rent for a reduced rate. Trent had wanted to write back and say he could afford the full rate, because he didn’t want to come across as taking advantage. But he knew that kind of offer would be perceived as ungrateful.