by Mia Carson
“What does that have to do with us?”
Hannah dunked her croissant angrily in her coffee. “I’ve seen them in Woodstock, too, and heard rumors from surrounding small towns.”
“What do they want?”
“I have no idea, but you know what happens to small towns when suits start showing up.”
A few small towns in the state had been taken over by investment companies in order to boost the economy and increase the profits of the communities. Their words were all well and good, but once they took over, the smaller businesses that couldn’t stand up to the rigorous demands were shut down and a lot of people lost their jobs.
“You think that’ll happen in Woodstock?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah whispered. “But I know my boss won’t let some jackass in a suit buy out his bar.”
“Same.” She couldn’t imagine her parents selling the restaurant.
But she’d heard how these guys had acquired some of their other businesses. They went straight to the banks and found out how much was left on the loans, offered to buy them out plus interest, giving the banks incentives to sell the loans. Then they hiked up the rates, and the owners of the businesses were forced to sell to them.
Jaylyn’s coffee tasted bitter in her mouth and her stomach knotted. She gave up trying to finish her lunch. They paid and left the mall, making the long drive back to Woodstock. She dropped Hannah off at the bar and drove further into the mountains to reach Jaybird’s. She barely uttered a greeting or met Frankie’s friendly smile once inside the kitchen.
“I thought you two were having a relaxing day,” Frankie asked when she stepped into the kitchen, tying back her hair with an orange bandanna.
“We were. It’s nothing, I hope.”
“You remember that conversation about you sucking at lying?”
She opened the fridge and gathered the produce she needed to prep for the dinner rush that night. “There are rumors of some investment company in Woodstock, possibly buying up businesses.”
“What? They’re not coming here, are they?”
“I don’t know. Dad hasn’t said anything, but with how grumpy he’s been lately, he could be lying through his teeth.”
“He is a much better liar than you.”
Jaylyn chucked a tomato at his head and his face pinched in annoyance, but he threw a handful of flour back at her. “Don’t start something you won’t win.”
“If dinner wasn’t starting in a few hours…” she warned, taking her towel from her shoulder and wiping her face off. “You think I should be worried? About losing the restaurant?”
“No, I think you should be worried about dinner tonight and nothing else.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Focus.”
The rest of her kitchen staff arrived and the lively, cheerful atmosphere of her crew distracted her from worries about suits coming to town or her dad being sick. How could she worry about his health when he waltzed in smiling brightly and looking for all the world like he was at the peak of health? She wanted to drag him aside and demand answers, but dinner came first.
Later, if she wasn’t dead tired after the rush, she’d find a way to get the truth out of him.
2
Walker sipped his coffee and stared around the tiny café on the main drag through Woodstock. “It’s very quaint here. Are you sure this would make a good investment?” he asked, his voice lilting with the British accent he’d acquired from growing up beneath his father’s tutelage, who was from across the pond.
His father, Leo Allard, nodded firmly. He removed his black-rimmed glasses and smoothed his hands back through his greying hair. “We’ve been eyeing properties close to White Mountain for years. And it just so happens that this town, in the past few years, has increased its tourism and profits by a rather large margin.”
“And the reason for that would be?”
“A few very successful businesses, including a restaurant—Jaybird’s Roost.”
Walker arched a brow arrogantly. “Doesn’t sound very up-scale to me.”
“No, it doesn’t, but a name can be changed. It’s in the perfect location. There used to be a lodge near it, but it was shut down. The owner of the restaurant was interested in the lodge, but he’s never had enough money.”
Walker spun his coffee cup around on the saucer, watching the passersby outside the window. It being January, he could tell the walkers were mostly locals, but come the spring and summer, the town had the potential to be flooded with tourists. “And you want to offer to buy it for him? Have him run both?”
Leo stared pointedly at his son. “Have you learned nothing from me in all the years you’ve worked beneath me?”
“Of course I have, Father. I was merely curious how you would convince this man to sell his restaurant, one that seems to be doing quite well without any aid from us.”
“The way I always do. Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Walker nodded but kept his thoughts to himself. Over the years, he’d grown tired of arguing morals with his over-eager, egotistical father that the way the Allards did business was wrong because all they ever did was make more enemies wherever they went. But his father refused to listen. He wanted to own properties that would make him and his other investors rich. Walker tried a long time ago to get out from under his father’s shadow but was roped into the life. His mother died when he was young, and Leo was all he had. A cold, hard man who didn’t care for a son but wanted a business partner. A legacy.
“Have you spoken to the owner yet?” he asked finally.
“No, but I have a meeting with the bank first thing in the morning. I want you there and I want you to run it.”
“Me?” he asked, surprised. “Why?”
“Because when we purchase this restaurant and the lodge, you will be in charge of getting both up and running before summer hits. I already have a list of potential customers and have promised them a very special trip up to the mountains. I expect you to make it happen,” Leo stated as if he was merely asking Walker to pick groceries up from the store, not potentially ruin many people’s lives so they could make a profit.
“I don’t think I’m ready for this—to be on my own, I mean.”
“You are nearly thirty. Do you wish to be under my thumb forever?”
Walker sulked. “No, but you have never let me be in charge of any of these properties. I am merely curious about your reasoning to let me start now.”
“Sooner or later, a son must take over from his father, as I did from mine.”
Walker drank his coffee to avoid opening his mouth, replying inappropriately, and upsetting his father. He’d been in a decent mood lately, and Walker liked to keep him so. Leo in a bad mood made everyone around him miserable.
“I hear you’re having troubles at home,” Leo commented.
“Troubles?”
“Your man, what’s his name again?”
“Douglas?”
Walker was used to a certain lifestyle—or rather, a certain lifestyle was expected of him. When he’d purchased his oversized home on the outskirts of a nearby small town, he’d hired a man who was essentially his assistant and butler. He hated having someone waiting on him at home, but the man was twenty years older than Walker, had kids and grandkids, and was quite a fun fellow to chat with in the evening. After a few months, Walker became used to Douglas and was very fond of the older man. He was also quite handy in assisting with business matters.
“Yes, him—exceptional man. He tells me you fired another cook.”
“I had the same meal four times in a week,” he explained, though it was a lie.
“Ah, that is unacceptable.”
Walker agreed outwardly, but inwardly, he couldn’t have cared less; but he wasn’t the one who complained of the repetitive meals to the point it made his life miserable. “I’m seeing Georgette this evening.”
“And how have you found Ms. Tindal?”
“She’s beautiful, I’ll gran
t her that,” he mused, thinking of her long, luscious, black waves of hair and the bosom she insisted on almost exposing each time they met. “I’m afraid we have yet to find any real common ground, though.”
“And what of the other two?”
Walker tilted his head, remembering the dates with the other two potential women Leo wanted his son to date, Brittany Kraus and Helena Landon. “I’m afraid it’s the same with all of them. They’re intelligent, no mistake there, but I’m missing that connection.”
“You might not have a connection, as you put it,” Leo grumbled. “I expect you to choose one as your bride-to-be by the annual holiday party. You are an important man from an important family. When I die, I expect my legacy to carry on, which means you must find a wife and have a son.”
“What if I have daughters?” Walker asked and watched his father’s cheeks redden.
“If you have daughters, then so be it, but you need a son. Have five children, have ten. I care not, but this is your duty as an Allard.” His father removed his wallet and laid a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “I expect to see you tomorrow morning bright and early, no matter how well your evening goes.”
Walker watched him exit the café and walk to the black sedan waiting at the curb. A man stepped out to open Leo’s door and his father slipped inside. The waitress came to collect the bill.
“Keep the change,” Walker told her.
She looked at the check and the fifty-dollar bill. “Sir, are you sure?”
“Yes, I insist,” he said warmly and smiled. “Have a wonderful rest of the day.”
The bell above the door chimed as he stepped outside into the blustery cold air. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he wandered down the sidewalk. Small town atmospheres were his favorite, or they used to be before his father began to ruin them one by one. There was a charm that couldn’t be found anywhere else. If he’d had his way, he would’ve found a job where he could work with computers or do something with his hands. He hated being an investor. Hated the markets. Hated the men and women he worked with. Hated all of it. He had tried to escape this life, but his father always found a way to drag him back, claiming he was the only heir. He needed Walker, promised they would change and shape the business together.
That promise had been made five years ago and Walker had been foolish enough to believe it.
All the wealth he had in the world was tied up in his father’s company. If he wanted to leave, he would have nothing to start over with, and the idea frightened him and excited him at the same time. He craved adventure. Backpacking across Europe, seeing the world.
He turned the corner to explore more of the town before heading home when he spied a bar across the street. “The Eight Ball… interesting,” he murmured and hurried across to get out of the cold.
There was an empty seat at the bar, so he hopped up on a bar stool. The bartender meandered over, laying out a napkin for him, and handed him the drink menu, a cheery smile on her face. “You new around here?”
“Just visiting,” he explained, glancing over the beer menu. “I’ll take a White Mountain ale, if you please.”
She bobbed her head, blonde curls covering her face, and drew out the bottle, popped the cap, and set it in front of him. “What’s a fancy suited man like you doing in Woodstock?”
The question sounded nice enough, but there was an edge to her words he’d be an idiot to miss. “Business trip.”
“Business trip.”
“Yes,” he said uncertainly.
“You part of that group of suits buying up people’s places?” she snapped, her smile still in place.
Walker felt the air grow colder and the room seemed to shrink. The few people in the bar had fallen silent at her words, and he hunched his shoulders, regretting his decision to stop in. “I work for an investment company, yes, but I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Right, sure you don’t. Enjoy the beer, it’s on the house. Then get the hell out of this bar and don’t come back.”
He needed the beer now more than before, and as he sat there, feeling eyes on his back, he drained it. The flavor was bold and pretty good. He spied the bartender near the end of the bar speaking on a cordless phone. She glared at him before turning her back on him as if afraid he would read her lips. He pulled out a twenty and laid it under his napkin for her and left the bar before it could get any uglier inside.
His truck was parked down the road from the café, and he swore he felt angry eyes on him his entire walk to it. The drive home was less than pleasant and when he finally parked in his large garage, he was exhausted and in no mood for a date.
“Ah, there you are,” Douglas greeted, his British accent stronger than Walker’s. Dogs barked from inside the house as Walker moved past him and into the kitchen from the garage. “You appear distraught.”
“It happens when an entire town suddenly rises up with pitchforks and torches,” he muttered, slipping out of his wool suit jacket. Three dogs rushed to jump up and lick his face, mutts all of them, and well over sixty pounds. “There’s my boys.”
He scratched each one in turn, their brown and black mix of fur following him as he moved through the kitchen. The all-brown one was a mix between a lab and a pit bull named Legolas. There was a black and white malamute mixed with several other breeds named Strider, and the last one was a runt compared to the other two, his brown, tan, and black fur a swirl of colors. He was part lab and part mystery. His name was Gimli. They were all about five years old and had been adopted from the local shelter. The best part about his dogs was that they were very selective of who they liked, and so far, none of them liked any of the three women he dated.
Douglas took his jacket from him and followed him through the mansion, the dogs in tow, their nails clacking on the floor. “That sounds rather exciting if you ask me. Very adventurous.”
“Until they catch me,” he added, tromping upstairs. The pack of dogs followed, yipping and barking excitedly as they played. Walker grinned and moved easily around their bodies, used to his dogs always trying to get him to play or pet them.
“Your date will arrive in a few short hours.”
“Do you think there’s any way I could cancel?”
“Do you wish to have her call your father and complain about a missed date?” Douglas warned. “Out of the three women your father has deemed best suited for his son, Ms. Tindal appears to be the one with the…how to put this nicely?”
“The one with the biggest mouth?” Walker supplied.
Douglas laughed deeply. “Yes, those are the appropriate words, I think.”
“Damn. I guess I’ll suffer through, then, for the good of my sanity.”
“There is a slight complication with tonight,” Douglas informed him as they entered the master bedroom and Walker stepped into the large walk-in closet. All three dogs leapt onto the large, king-sized bed. Maybe he should take a picture of the dogs on his bed and show it to the women? That would be a decent turn off.
“And what might it be this time?”
Douglas cringed as Walker unbuttoned his sleeves and moved onto his shirt. “Your cook.”
“Hell,” he muttered. “We haven’t hired a replacement yet?”
“No, we have not. Might I suggest I order takeout for the evening? I’ll place an ad on Monday to find a new one.”
“Put in the ad this time that the person must be flexible.”
Douglas grinned and nodded. “I will do so. Dinner will be here before your date arrives. Have no fear.”
“With you around, I never do.”
Douglas exited the room, whistling for the dogs. “Who wants dinner?”
The three barked and raced after him down the hall, leaving Walker alone to ponder his night. He stepped out of his wool pants and browsed through his clothes. The day had been cold and he was in the mood for comfortable, warm clothes. He found a dark pair of designer jeans and a heavy black sweater to go over a red button-up shirt. Once he was dre
ssed, he grabbed his black boots, pulled them on his feet, and walked back downstairs, following the smell of something delicious.
“How the bloody hell did you get this here so fast?” he asked.
Douglas was in the middle of plating the potatoes and steaks with green beans as he replied, “Magic. It’s how I do everything around here.”
“Are the dogs put up for the evening?” Though it was his home and he felt he should never have to lock his dogs up for anyone coming to see him, his father scolded him the first time he let the dogs run rampant when Georgette arrived. They’d growled and barked at her for a solid twenty minutes before she said she would come back later. Walker hoped she wouldn’t come back, but of course, his father was called and he was given another Allard lesson on manners. Now his dogs had to stay upstairs in his bedroom until the date was over.
“Yes, they’ve been out to take care of business and have fresh bones to keep them occupied.”
The clock struck six and the doorbell rang a second later, setting the dogs off upstairs. “Right on time,” he murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Walker reached the front door and opened it. “It took you long enough,” Georgette complained as she stomped inside, shivering from standing out in the cold for a mere moment. Her heavy fur coat slipped from her shoulders, and Walker forced the smile to remain on his face when he saw what she wore underneath.
“If you wore something a little more substantial, you might not freeze to death,” he suggested and kissed her politely on the cheek, taking her coat in his other hand to hang in the hall closet.
“Where is your man? Why wasn’t he here to open the door?” She glared upstairs as the dogs continued to bark. “I don’t know why you keep those animals around.”
“He’s busy in the kitchen at the moment. I can step into his shoes for a few minutes and answer my own door,” he said through gritted teeth and pointedly ignored her comment about his dogs. He hung her coat up and cringed when she wrapped her arms around his waist.
