by Devney Perry
THE BITTERROOT INN
Copyright © 2018 by Devney Perry
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 0-9983583-4-7
ISBN-13: 978-0-9983583-4-5
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Editor: Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing, www.razorsharpediting.com
Cover Artwork © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com
Proofreader: Julie Deaton, www.facebook.com/jdproofs
Formatting: Champagne Book Design, www.champagnebookdesign.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Jamison Valley Series
The Coppersmith Farmhouse
The Clover Chapel
The Lucky Heart
The Outpost
The Bitterroot Inn
To Bill, Will and Nash
Hunter
“Is this seat taken, ma’am?”
The elderly woman abandoned the book she’d been reading and looked up. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened with her warm smile. “Not at all, dear. Please sit.”
“Thanks.” I stopped spinning my car keys around my index finger and tucked them into my jeans pocket before sinking into the leather couch and surveying the room.
For a hospital waiting room, the space was especially nice. The chairs across from the leather couch were oversized and upholstered in a high-end woven fabric. The oil paintings on the walls were framed with a mahogany that matched the end tables. The magazines on the center table were current editions and wrinkle-free. This was the nicest waiting room I’d ever seen, which was saying something, because I’d spent my fair share of time in hospitals—though not in maternity wards. Expectant grandparents, aunts and uncles could be trusted with leather and glass-top coffee tables. Unlike the emergency room I’d been in three days ago, waiting rooms in this Bozeman maternity ward probably didn’t see gushing wounds or projectile vomiting.
“What brings you here?” the elderly woman asked.
An innocent question. Would she take back her seat invitation if I told her the truth?
Probably.
I smiled and went with a vague response. “Oh, just waiting around for good news like everyone else. What about you?”
“My granddaughter is having her first baby. My first great-grandbaby.” Her eyes sparkled as she turned them down the hall, where her granddaughter was likely knees up with a doctor perched between her legs.
“Congratulations. Is she having a girl or a boy?”
“A girl.” She smiled but shook her head. “You young people these days leave nothing up to chance with your ultrasounds. I had four babies and each one was a surprise.”
“Well, I don’t have children but I happen to agree with you. I’d want it to be a surprise.”
She patted my forearm. “Good for you.”
At the elevator’s ding, our conversation stopped and we both looked to the silver doors, waiting for them to split open. I tensed and held my breath, hoping that the reason for my hospital visit wasn’t about to walk right in and let me ruin her special day.
My fists dug into my thighs as the elevator doors started to part. What the fuck was I even doing here? How had I let myself get dragged into doing this? I hated my goddamn life right now.
A man came out of the elevator first, ducking his head as he stepped onto the floor. His baseball cap and dark beard did little to hide his furrowed eyebrows and the worry around his mouth.
For a second I relaxed my hands, thinking he was alone, until one of his arms swung back to help a woman out of the elevator. His wide mass had hidden her from me.
Was that her?
No. It couldn’t be her. Not her. Please don’t let that be her.
Because this woman was a dream. An angel standing in the hallway of a hospital.
Her bright-blond hair framed her delicate and flawless face like a halo. Her smile was full of straight white teeth underneath soft pink lips. Her eyes would be too big on most faces, but because they were so perfectly placed atop her high cheekbones, they were her best feature.
“Beau,” the woman said, pulling back on the man’s arm. “Will you relax and slow down?”
He didn’t stop moving toward the nurses’ desk, tugging her along. “This is not the time to slow down, Maisy.”
Fuck me. It was her. The breath I’d been holding rushed out so fast my chest caved.
“Look.” Maisy wriggled her fingers out of Beau’s meaty grip and stopped by the doorway to the waiting room. “This is where we part ways. This is your room.” She pointed to an open chair across from my couch. “And I’ll go get checked into mine. I’ll text you in a bit.”
He frowned. “You’re having a baby. I’m not staying in the waiting room.”
“Well, you’re not coming into my room. I love you, but there are things you are not going to see. That includes me in a hospital gown with my feet in stirrups.”
“You’re not doing this alone, Maze.”
“Mom will be here soon and—ooh. Owie!” She bent over her pregnant belly and hissed out a long breath through clamped teeth.
My legs started to push off the floor but I stopped before I could rise from my seat. It wasn’t my job to comfort her through a contraction. She had her brother and her family for that. I was just a stranger.
Still, I wanted the job. I wanted to be the man rubbing her back and kissing her hair. I wanted to hold her hand and let her squeeze it with all her might. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was as her baby made its way into the world.
How fucked up was that?
I’d seen her for the first time just a minute ago, but one look and all I could think about was making her mine. Two minutes ago, I would have told you that shit didn’t happen in real life. Men like me didn’t believe in love at first sight.
Two minutes ago, I was a chump.
“Are you okay?” Beau asked when Maisy stood straight.
She looked down at her belly, rubbing the sides as a smile lit up her entire face. “I’m okay. It doesn’t feel great but it just means he’ll be here soon.”
“Let me come with you to get checked in. Please?” Beau asked, and when she nodded, he led her toward the nurses’ desk and out of my sight.
My jaw tightened as realization set in.
I was here on a fool’s errand.
That woman loved her unborn child and would never give
him up.
The elderly woman at my side said something I didn’t catch. So caught up with Maisy, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone on this couch.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I said I don’t envy her,” she repeated. “If that baby takes after its father at all, she’s in for a rough delivery. He’s as big as a mountain. For her sake, I hope she gets the drugs.”
I shook my head and mumbled, “He’s not the father.”
“Pardon?”
I didn’t repeat myself. Instead, I stood and walked out of the waiting room as quickly as I could, going straight for the stairs so I wouldn’t have to wait for the elevator. The second the stairwell door slammed tight behind me, I pulled out my phone from my pocket. I pressed the most recent name in the call log and held the phone tight to my ear as I bounded down the steps two at a time.
“She’s keeping the baby. Leave her be.”
Maisy
Three and a half years later . . .
“Do you think they’re ever going to get over it?” Milo asked.
“Over me renaming the motel?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Probably not.”
Milo and I were sitting in a booth at the Prescott Café, eavesdropping on the Coffee Club as they debated whether the decision to rename my motel from The Fan Mountain Inn to The Bitterroot Inn was going to land me in bankruptcy. They’d been having the same discussion for over a year now and still hadn’t come to any conclusions.
“I swear, these guys are running out of gossip,” Milo said. “I remember their meetings being much more informative. Now they’re just recycling old topics.”
I giggled. “It’s just because Seth Balan is on vacation. Once he gets back, I’m sure he’ll infuse the group with fresh material. He’s their ringleader, you know that.”
He nodded. “True.”
The Coffee Club was the foundation of Prescott, Montana’s gossip mill. For as long as I could remember, the group of local men had been meeting here at the café every morning for coffee. Since the club was mostly made up of retired farmers and ranchers, they spent their first cup discussing the cattle market and grain prices while cussing the weather. But after those topics were hashed out, everything else was fair game. How they got their information I had no clue. Not even my mom’s quilting club could get the inside scoop as quickly as these men could.
“So, did you decide what to get Sara for her birthday?” I asked, changing subjects. He’d been stressing for weeks about what to gift his wife.
“No.” He leaned back into the vinyl booth, turning to stare out the window beside us. “She’s impossible to shop for,” he told the glass. “If she wants something, she buys it for herself, which leaves me with spa gift cards and jewelry she rarely wears. I want to get her something special this year. Do something big. Any ideas?”
I shook my head. Sara was a good friend, but Milo was right; she was very difficult to shop for and I was struggling to come up with a birthday gift for her myself. “Why don’t you talk to Nick?” I suggested. “He’s always going over the top for Emmeline. I bet he could think of something big.”
Milo turned back to the booth and frowned. “He’s going to laugh at me if I walk into the garage and ask for gift ideas for my wife.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll totally help.” I knew for a fact that Nick Slater loved nothing more than going all out to make Emmeline’s special days even better, and he’d be all over helping Milo. I had the sneaking suspicion that Nick was the mastermind behind many of the birthday and anniversary gifts my friends had gotten from their husbands.
“I’ll think about it.” Milo reached for his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash. “I’ve got coffee today.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
He dropped a few bills on the table, then slid from our booth and walked to the counter to pay the three dollars for our coffee carafe.
Milo Phillips and I had been meeting for coffee once a week since we’d been in our early twenties. Because our mothers were close friends, we’d grown up together. As young adults, we’d lost touch for a few years. He’d left Prescott for the police academy and I’d gone away to college, but when we’d both made our way back home, we’d started this weekly ritual at the café.
Back then, both of our mothers had been beside themselves that we were spending time together, taking every opportunity to not-so-subtly hint at their dream for us to marry one another. Unfortunately for our moms, Milo had always been more of a brother than a love interest.
Besides, the minute he brought Sara to Prescott, everyone saw he’d found the right woman. She was his other half. Kind and sweet, she loved Milo with all her heart. All she wanted was for him to be happy, and gossiping with me for an hour made him happy.
It made me happy too.
We teased the Coffee Club relentlessly, but the fact was, Milo and I weren’t much better. Not much happened in our small town that neither of us knew about. Though, unlike the Club, we did our best not to spread rumors. When we’d been younger, both of us had been more loose-lipped. But now, for the most part, our gossip stayed between the two of us and the regular booth we sat in each week.
When Milo turned from the counter, I plucked my purse off the bench seat and started toward the door, waving good-bye to our waitress, who stood behind the counter at the back of the restaurant.
“Gentlemen.” I greeted the Coffee Club at the row of square tables they’d pushed together in the center of the restaurant.
A chorus of “Mornings” and “Hi, Maisy” filled the room.
“What’s the news today?” I smirked, knowing no one would answer and fess up to the fact they’d been gossiping about me.
As I’d expected, all eyes suddenly found the menus, paper place mats and salt shakers fascinating. These guys never seemed to realize just how loud they were or that Milo and I were chronic eavesdroppers.
“Maybe one of these days you’ll invite me and Milo to your table.” I did my best to sound hopeful even though I was kidding.
A couple of the men mumbled but Dean Taylor spoke up for the group. “You know how it goes, Maisy. We sit here for hours. You’ve got to be retired to have the time to join this old group.”
“Well, when the motel goes bankrupt because of its new name, maybe then I’ll qualify.” A couple of faces flushed and Dean’s mouth fell open. I giggled and waved as I walked to the door, calling, “Have a nice day!” over my shoulder.
The little bell on the door dinged as Milo pushed it open for me. “You shouldn’t provoke them.”
I shrugged and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “It’s not like they’re going to say anything about me that hasn’t already been said or printed in the weekly paper.”
“Good point.” He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked toward his cruiser.
Sometimes I had to remind myself that Milo was a cop, not just the lanky boy with a buzz cut who used to chase me around the playground. He still had the buzz cut and was as lanky as ever—his tan deputy shirt never did seem to fit his lean frame—but standing by his police car, he looked much more official and grown up.
“What are you doing today?” I asked. Milo had always been forthcoming with me about his work, so much so that it had gotten him into trouble a few years back. I still asked and he still told me, but I was more careful about keeping my mouth shut around others, especially his boss, the sheriff, who happened to be my best friend’s husband.
“I’m on patrol today so I’ll go check in at the station, then head out.”
“Then I’ll say good luck. May your day be filled with a plethora of speeding tickets.”
“Thank you.” He smiled but it fell as he looked in the seat of the car. “Shit. I’ve gotta run home. I forgot my sunscreen and Sara gets pissed when I don’t have it on patrol days.”
My eyes immediately found the wrinkled scar on Milo’s forehead and the one underneath his jaw. His arms were covered with long sl
eeves, but underneath the starched cotton was a pattern of burn scars from an explosion he’d been caught in years ago. A sunburn would be the worst thing for his scars and Sara was smart to push the sunscreen.
“Okay, bye.” I waved. “Think about talking to Nick about her birthday.”
“Will do. Bye.” He waved back before sliding into his car, backing out onto Main Street and zooming toward his house.
I smiled at his urgency. Not many men would put their wife’s skin-care directives above getting to work on time, but Milo would do anything to make Sara happy. If wearing sunscreen at all times made her smile, he’d be the first to slather it on.
Seeing their relationship made me long for one of my own. I wanted a strong and honest man to come crashing into my life. I wanted to be swept off my feet in a whirlwind romance. But more than anything, I wanted to find a man who I could trust completely. A man who wouldn’t hide things from me.
Unfortunately, pickings were slim in small-town Montana and I wasn’t about to settle for anything less than perfect. It wasn’t just my heart on the line. I had a little boy to consider first. My three-year-old son, Coby, deserved the best, and since I’d made enough mistakes with his biological father, I’d vowed not to bring an unworthy stepfather into the mix.
Even if that meant I stayed single for the rest of my life.
If nothing else, I had my daydreams. I was currently holding out hope that a Chris clone—Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth or Chris Pine—would wander into town and fall madly in love with me and my son. If I happened to be out of open motel rooms at the time he breezed into town, I’d gladly offer him my own bedroom for free.
“Good morning, Maisy!”
I turned away from the street and smiled at Mrs. Connelly as she opened the door to her pottery and kitchenware shop. “Good morning!”
The stores downtown wouldn’t survive in most small towns, but thanks to the heavy influx of summer tourists, businesses like hers were flourishing in Prescott.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked. “Next time you talk to your mom, let her know I just got in that Himalayan salt block she’s been wanting to try.”
