by Amie Denman
“I’m a third-owner now,” Evie said, “and I’d like to enjoy this last day before all mayhem cuts loose.”
* * *
THE HOTEL BAKESHOP looked like a cookie blizzard had swept in, burying it in stacks of carefully wrapped summer-themed cookies.
“Good!” Gus exclaimed when Evie stepped through the door. “You’re here. I’m desperate for organization and someone with brains and sanity.”
Jack appeared right behind his sister. He ruffled Evie’s hair. “Then I guess I’m your man,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” Evie asked. “You look frazzled.”
Although Gus’s apron was covered in hearts, she didn’t feel very warm and fuzzy. Warm maybe, but only because it was hotter than heck in the small bakery with the oven blazing. She had dozens of cookies left to bake, a temperamental new oven in the Last Chance and about twenty summer employees whose decorating skills were—to put it kindly—like a kindergartner’s.
Gus wanted to unload on Evie and confide all her worries. In only a week of working side by side, Gus had found Evie to be a great listener, incredibly practical and someone she’d like to befriend. She could use a friend.
But she forced herself to remember that Evie was a Hamilton. And Gus was not saying a word in front of Jack. She wouldn’t show weakness. Wouldn’t flinch. She would put on a brave face for herself and all the vendors, who, ironically, considered making a huge summer profit an act of defiance. Even though she was his sister and technically an owner, none of the vendors considered Evie to be in the enemy camp. Perhaps because she was so nice, and word had got around that Jack was running the show, not his sisters. His name was on the contracts, not Evie’s and June’s.
Gus picked up a cookie shaped like the Silver Streak coaster. She’d decorated it for her helpers to use as an example. It was covered with smooth silver-and-white icing with little colored dots representing riders in a coaster train. Just for fun, she waved it under Jack’s nose before holding it up.
“See this cookie?” Gus said, forgetting to answer Evie’s question. “I’m going to sell so many of these I’ll need a dump truck to haul out all the cash.”
Gus couldn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes. She wanted to run herself through the mixer every time she thought about how she was attracted to him. She wanted to run him through the blender every time he opened his mouth and mentioned business.
“Reserving twenty out of every one hundred trucks for you, of course,” she said. She directed her words at Jack even though she knew Evie would profit, as well. Why Evie wanted to spend her summer slaving over books for a vendor was beyond Gus, but she was grateful to have her help.
Perhaps people wondered why Aunt Augusta was working long shifts at her niece’s bakery when she could be taking bus tours with old gals her age. Gus didn’t want to admit how desperately she needed her aunt’s help. Maybe there’s a lot people don’t know about the Hamiltons, too.
Right now, Gus knew she wanted Jack to get back to work and out from under her skin.
“Jack and I are doing our final walk-through,” Evie said, breaking the awkward silence. “We do this every year on the day before the season opening.”
“Just to check everything out?”
“And enjoy having the place to ourselves one more time before thousands of people start showing up every day.”
“Lucky for you,” Gus said, “they do show up.”
“Of course,” Jack said. “But this is the last chance for it to feel like our own family’s park.”
“Gotcha,” Gus said. “Maybe I should enjoy the cozy family feel of my bakery here before people have the nerve to come in and buy cookies.”
Gus sighed and bit her lip. Despite her exhaustion, frustration and need for caffeine, she handed the Silver Streak cookie to Jack. It was better than an olive branch on the eve of the big battle.
“Good luck with your walk-through,” she said. “If you happen to know anything about electrical controllers, you can stop in my bakery in the Wonderful West and see why that oven won’t hold a consistent temperature. Until it does, I’m doing double baking right here.”
Evie stepped forward. “Want me to stay and help? I’ve been having fun learning to bake this past week. I may even give up accounting. Jack can handle the walk-through by himself.”
Gus smiled at Evie. “Appreciate your offer, but I’ve got some help coming in. Lucky for me, my aunt doesn’t have plans on a Friday night, and a few of my experienced employees from my downtown shop are coming over to bail me out. Until I get more decorators and bakers trained here, I’m going to be icing cookies in my sleep.”
“I’ll stop by later to check on you,” Evie said. “And my offer of decorating cookies still stands.” She shoved her brother toward the door.
Jack glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression.
* * *
GUS FIRST REALIZED something was wrong by a sudden silence. It lasted only ten seconds and was followed by swearing. Voluminous swearing. The cursing of a man who’d been around other top-notch colorful-language users his whole life. She pulled out the done batch of cookies, laid the trays gently on the long marble counter and hustled to the front door of her bakeshop.
The Lake Breeze Hotel had been built long before the peninsula was invaded by an amusement park. It had a large, old-fashioned lobby with polished hardwood floors, ornate stained-glass windows and an interior balcony. A long check-in counter covered one side of the lobby, across from a string of retail shops featuring toiletries and resort wear. A pancake restaurant took up one of the shorter sides, opposite a souvenir stand and the bakeshop owned by Gus.
All afternoon, she’d heard the one-hundred-year-old building coming to life for another season. Creaking, groaning, water rushing through pipes. Old hotel sounds mixed with the clang of tourist season made a music all its own. Gus heard it, but ignored it. She was putting her new oven to the test, running batch after batch of cookies through it. Sea Devil, Silver Streak, carousel and cookies in a dozen other shapes familiar to Starlight Point guests had come and gone through the oven four dozen at a time. At the end of the day tomorrow, Gus would know whether she’d gone overboard or barely made a ripple.
But now, she stood transfixed in the door of her bakery.
What she saw made her want to grab her cookies and run. Water. Streams of water making their way across the lobby, spewing and gushing from a wall on the opposite side. A wave slid over the gleaming floors, getting closer and closer to her door.
“Shut off the main!” a man yelled. “The main!”
If Gus had known what the main was or where it was, she would’ve been all over it. Instead, she bolted into her shop and grabbed anything, everything that was on or near the floor. Chairs up on tables, electrical cords unplugged. Flour in bags anywhere near the floor, sugar, cellophane cookie bags, boxes of finished cookies. Everything. She stretched, reached, hauled and lifted until every high surface in her bakeshop was covered with the refugees from lower down.
The shouting in the lobby amplified now. Male voices, angry. Maybe it was a good thing Aunt Augusta hadn’t gotten there yet. She’d either be out there yelling, too, just for the heck of it, or telling them all to watch their language. She never knew with Aunt Augusta. Radios squawked with information and orders.
She risked a look. The water was only inches away from her front door, but it appeared to have stalled. Maybe this old hotel wasn’t level and the crooked foundation was slightly in her favor. Or maybe someone shut off the main somewhere. She’d take whatever she could get.
Maintenance men, supervisors, bellboys in training and housekeepers trudged through the water, some of it ankle deep. Someone had opened the door leading to the beach and water gushed through it. So the hotel was slanted toward the beach. Good to know. Gus was never so happy to be on the op
posite end of the lobby. One of the desk clerks used a broom to sweep water toward the open beach door. A bellboy appeared with another broom and they went at it like an Olympic curling team, sweeping and guiding the water off the century-old floor.
This was a disaster. Upholstered lobby chairs were wet up to their seats, the carpet in the retail shops and anything stored near or on the floor was wrecked. Who knew what shape the pancake shop was in. Judging from the congregation of maintenance men, she had a feeling the water-main break must be in the corner where the pancake restaurant met the hallway leading to the guest parking lot.
Gus took off her shoes. She wore shorts and a T-shirt under her apron, so her clothes would stay dry. Unlike the maintenance guys across the lobby. She wished she had spare towels to take them, but they looked too ticked off to care that they were wet. Grabbing a broom from the back room of her bakery, Gus joined the sweeping team in the lobby. She couldn’t even think about how this was going to affect the hotel guests arriving tomorrow. Right now, the water had to go somewhere, and she wanted it off the lobby floor and as far from her shop as it could go.
Sweep, shove, push, repeat. Five people were sweeping now, but the water managed to slip back between them if they slowed down for a moment. Gus had a strong back and shoulders, but she’d worked twelve-hour days baking, decorating, cleaning and stocking all week. She would have to risk her liver later by combining painkillers and a glass of wine to ease her into a night’s sleep. She was going to need it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him arrive. She didn’t even need to look. Few people were as tall as Jack Hamilton. Gus was on the end of the sweeping string closest to the maintenance men. They were looking at a pipe going up the corner of the lobby. It was almost as big around as Gus’s waist. If Jack wanted to know what was going on, he’d be coming right past her.
Curious, Gus maneuvered closer to the corner with her broom and continued sweeping, making sure to get every ounce of water headed the right direction. Jack paused next to her, his eyes washing over her bare legs and feet, but his expression unchanging. He stalked up to the men around the pipe.
“What the heck happened?” Jack asked.
“Standpipe broke.”
“Crap.”
“No kidding,” a man with a large wrench said. “We were testing the sprinkler system. Fire inspector will be in this afternoon to sign off for occupancy.”
“Any idea why the pipe failed?” Jack asked.
“Must’ve cracked over the winter. We drain the whole hotel, but if any water gets left in the pipes and freezes...well, it’s an old pipe. Mighta just broke.”
Jack stripped off his suit jacket and looked around for somewhere to set it down. The chairs had all been shoved back, and the floor was wet. He looked so exasperated Gus felt sorry for him.
“I’ll put that in my shop,” she said. “It’s dry in there.”
He handed her the coat wordlessly, his glance lingering on her for a second, and then he turned back to the maintenance guys.
“Is this a major job?” Gus heard him ask as she headed across the lobby. She didn’t catch the answer, but she heard Jack’s muttered cursing in response.
Gus decided she’d be better off decorating the cooled cookies in her bakery. Other workers had already begun to arrive to help with the damage cleanup. She might never see her broom again, but that was peanuts compared to Jack’s problems.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK WONDERED WHY something couldn’t go right. His father had made it all look effortless. Of course, as Jack had recently discovered, in addition to bottling up his anxiety until his heart gave out, Ford Hamilton had been a master at concealing his problems. Looking around at the soggy hotel lobby filled with wet and tired employees, Jack knew there was no hiding this problem. The only thing coaxing half a smile out of him was Mel Preston striding across the wet floor much too quickly.
“Watch it!” Jack yelled.
His warning was too late. Mel skidded out of control, flailed his arms wildly and fell on his can. He groaned and lay totally still. “Am I dead?” he asked.
There was total silence for a full two seconds, then uproarious laughter from the assembled cleanup and maintenance crew. Jack, still chuckling, extended a hand and helped his best friend up.
“Thanks,” Mel said.
“Thank you. We needed a laugh. And there’s nothing funny about this mess.”
“Heard about it over the radio. Standpipe, huh?”
Jack nodded. “I thought the yearly fire inspections were done a week ago, but apparently not. We’ve been preoccupied with the new ride so much...” He met his friend’s eyes. “I guess it’s not so much we as it is I. Juggling everything and making it all ready for opening day—seems I’ve got a few things to learn.”
“Building maintenance guys ought to have handled this. Not your fault. I wonder why the pipe broke.”
“Maybe not fully emptied for the winter, maybe it was just old. That’s what they tell me.”
“Either way, timing is awful. Are guests scheduled to stay here tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
Mel used his thumb and ring finger to squeeze his temples, wrinkling the skin on his forehead. “You’re not thinking of getting this cleaned up and ready on time, are you? You’re nuts, but not that nuts.”
“New pipe’s on its way, we’re bringing in big fans to dry the carpet, and I’ve got a cleaning crew on overtime.”
“What about the fire inspection? Can’t open the hotel without that.”
“Already talked to the fire chief. He says we can open if we keep a truck and two firefighters on the premises twenty-four hours a day.”
“And you’re planning to do that?”
“At least for the weekend until we can get the system back up and pass inspection.”
“I don’t want to step on your big ugly toes or anything, but are you sure you have the manpower to tie up two guys and a truck all day and night?” Mel asked.
Jack unrolled and wrung out his shirtsleeves then rolled them back up.
“I heard our seasonal staff might be cut some this year is all,” Mel said. “Maybe I heard wrong.”
“You heard right,” Jack said, avoiding eye contact.
“None of my business, just asking if you have the emergency responders you need to cover a big opening day with some of them babysitting this old place.”
“It sounds like a pain in the neck, but it’s still better than refunding money or finding someplace else to stay for the two hundred and fifty guests coming in tomorrow.” Jack draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and muscled him across the lobby away from the maintenance and cleaning crew. “And I don’t want to start the season with a failure on the books. Bad press is not the way for me to begin my career in charge,” he said quietly.
Mel nodded. He was the only person, aside from his family, Jack would admit that to. There were a whole lot of other things he ought to tell his family and Mel, but now was not the time.
“Guess I’ll pitch in, too,” Mel said.
“Thanks. Want to start by helping me unload the fans?” He inclined his head toward the parking-lot entrance. “I hear the truck backing up right now.”
* * *
EVENING DARKENED THE antique lobby windows. Jack’s suit jacket was gone, carried away by Gus hours ago. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up over his elbows and his shirttail hung out one side. He’d shoved his tie into the back pocket of his pants. His black leather dress shoes—his favorites because they were comfortable enough to endure miles of Starlight Point walking—were wrecked like a wedding dress in a washing machine. The legs of his pants were wet halfway up his calves.
Hauling in the fans had been only the beginning. He and the overtime crew had sorted ruined merchandise in
the lobby retail shops and loaded what could be saved onto a truck to be figured out later. They’d set up fans to dry the carpeting and moved on to the next shop. By the time they’d gotten to the pancake restaurant, they were already dirty and exhausted.
His rumbling stomach finally reminded Jack that he’d skipped lunch and worked through dinner. He suspected many of his employees had also missed dinner and were probably going on twelve hours of solid work. It was tempting to throw in the towel.
If the hotel didn’t open tomorrow, they’d have to find other lodging for all the inconvenienced guests and offer comp packages. It would also be really bad business, and people wouldn’t be so likely to come back. But he was starving and tired.
Jack hauled a soggy box of paper take-out cartons from under a counter in the pancake shop. He dropped them on the cart destined for the Dumpster. As he straightened, rubbing his aching back, a tray of cookies appeared in front of him.
The full force of Gus’s beauty hit him as she was illuminated in the emergency lighting. Maybe it was the aroma coming off the cookies. Maybe it was the wide smile she wore. A sympathetic smile that shot right to his heart.
“You must be starving. Evie told me you didn’t have lunch or dinner.”
He shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything without screwing up.
“I know cookies are no substitute, but give it a try,” she said. “I’ve got fresh bread in the oven and I sent one of my helpers out for turkey and ham. We’ll have sandwiches ready for the cleanup and maintenance crews in about a half hour.”
Jack stared speechlessly, amazed and grateful.
“Consider this an appetizer,” she said. “Which one would you like?”
Jack finally looked at the cookies. Small replicas of the rides and attractions at Starlight Point covered the tray. The newest ride, the Sea Devil, cozied up to the oldest coaster, the Silver Streak. The Lake Breeze Hotel, the Star Spiral, even the skyline at night were represented in sugar and dough.
