The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley Book 5)

by Devney Perry

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. I want to do this. Please let me?”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” How had I gotten this lucky? How was it that this man, a photographer, had walked into my motel? I’d be thanking my fairy godmother for years to come if this all worked out right.

  We ate a few more bites of our sandwiches as we strolled downtown. With Hunter’s food demolished, he tossed the wrapper in a trash bin and wiped his hands free of crumbs. “I think I’m set down here unless you had something specific to show me.”

  “Nope,” I shook my head, “nothing specific here.”

  “Okay, then how about you take me up to Wade Lake and show me around?”

  “Sounds good.”

  We turned around and walked back to his truck, me eating quickly and disposing of my own trash. As we pulled onto the highway and out of town, I decided to brave asking Hunter a question. I didn’t want to pry into his personal life but I did want to get to know him more. Ever since we’d left the motel, our conversation had been so genuine and natural.

  I didn’t want it to stop.

  Crossing my fingers on my lap, I took a deep breath. “Is talking about your new house a safe topic? Or should I stick to the weather?”

  He chuckled. “The house is safe.”

  I smiled at my small victory. “How’s it coming along?”

  “It’s going to be great, but I went by this morning and there’s still a lot to do. I called my contractor and he said they’re behind.”

  “Yikes. How long?”

  “He thinks two weeks, which probably means four. I don’t suppose you’ve got an open room for another month.”

  “Sorry. Two more weeks and I’m in full-blown tourist season. The only empty space I have is an old housekeeper’s room, and it’s more like a closet than an actual living space.” There wasn’t even a window. It had come as no surprise when the previous owners had told me that no housekeeper had ever chosen to live in that room.

  “I’ll take it.”

  My head whipped around. “What?”

  “The housekeeper’s room. I’ll take it.”

  “Oh, Hunter, no. I was kidding. That room is awful.”

  “Hey, I’m desperate here. I don’t want to rent out a house and I can’t stay in mine until it’s finished. How bad can it be? It’s only for a month.”

  “How bad can it be?” I repeated. “I’ve only ever used it for storage. It’s smaller than my college dorm room. And the finishes are . . . gross.” Hunter exuded class and stature. He would clash in every possible way with the seventies floral linoleum, carrot-orange bathroom counter and twin-size bed.

  “I don’t care. Does it at least have a bathroom?”

  “Yes, but there’s no kitchen.”

  He laughed. “Considering that I don’t know how to use nine out of ten kitchen appliances, I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Nine out of ten? Really?”

  “Really.”

  I opened my mouth to explore that further but didn’t let myself go down that bunny trail. “Anyway. I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow, I’ll go clean up that room a bit and you can check it out. If you still want to stay, you’re more than welcome. But if you don’t, I get to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

  He looked over at me and grinned. “You’ve got a deal, Blondie.”

  “I can’t wait to say ‘I told you so.’ ” I caught a look at my unbridled smile in the side-view mirror.

  How crazy was this? I had expected today to be awkward after our dinner last night, but this was, hands down, the best possible outcome for today. And the afternoon wasn’t even over yet.

  “So how’d you come to own the motel?” Hunter asked as he drove. “Was a career in hospitality always the plan?”

  “Actually, I went to college for nursing. I did the four-year program, came home and started working at the hospital, but it wasn’t for me.” That was a bit of an understatement, but I kept going. “The previous owners of the motel were looking for a manager so I said, ‘What the heck?’ and gave it a shot. We got along really well, and when they decided to retire, they made me an offer to buy it from them.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three years in June. The previous owners are now traveling the country in their RV, sending me postcards along the way, and I’ve spent those three years updating the inn.”

  “Oh, yeah? What kind of updates?”

  I smiled and shifted in my seat so I could face him better, then I launched into stories about remodeling projects, spending the rest of our drive to Wade Lake talking about the Bitterroot.

  The gravel road got bumpier the closer we got to the lake, and the trees that bordered the road were so thick you couldn’t see more than fifty feet into the forest. But as we coasted over one last rise, the trees opened and the lake appeared.

  Hunter parked the truck in the wide gravel lot that met the lake’s shore. “I can see why you’d pick this place.”

  “It’s hard to beat.” I kept my eyes locked on the scenery as I pushed open my door and stepped outside.

  The water’s surface was covered with small ripples today. The breeze swished in the trees that sloped down steep hills to meet the water’s edge. With the sun shining brightly, the wavelets’ tips glittered as they rolled.

  Picking up a flat rock, I flicked it toward the water, counting three skips before it sank. Hunter did the same, his rock going twice as far as mine.

  “What kind of a photograph are you looking for up here?” he asked.

  “How about a sunset? Or a sunrise?” I stepped over to a thick piece of driftwood and sat down.

  “Sure.” He nodded and followed, taking a seat next to me as we both looked out over the water.

  We sat quietly for a while, enjoying the view and the cool, clean air. It was just us today, the weather still too cold for much lake activity, but soon that would change. People would flock to the lake to enjoy camping vacations as my free time evaporated with the summer sun.

  “Did you ever find out what happened to that guy you were supposed to meet last night?”

  “Yeah.” I frowned. “I guess he showed but took one look at me and left. Apparently, I reminded him too much of his ex-wife.”

  “Ouch.”

  “That’s not even the worst of the dates I’ve had lately.” I smiled and told him my worst blind-date tales from the last few years. “How about you? Have you had any booger-eating first dates lately?”

  He shook his head. “No. My ex-girlfriends were better about hiding their crazy. My most recent ex didn’t let hers show until we’d been dating for six months. She started stealing money from my wallet and telling people we were engaged. After I broke it off with her, she snuck into my house at night and crawled into my bed. I had to change my locks and get a restraining order.”

  “Yikes.”

  He shrugged. “It’s over now. Anyway, sorry about the guy who ditched you. He’s an asshole.”

  I sighed. “I’ve been on an asshole streak lately.” A five-year streak, to be exact.

  “I hope I’m not included in that streak.”

  “Well . . .” I leaned over and playfully bumped him with my shoulder. “Since last night wasn’t a date, I guess you don’t count.”

  He chuckled. “This is true. Maybe one of these nights you’ll let me take you on an actual date and I can try and break that asshole streak.”

  My smile fell. Did he just ask me out?

  Hell yes, he did!

  I swallowed the urge to jump for joy—and by some miracle from above—managed to play it cool. “I’d, um, really like that.”

  “Me too.”

  Smiling again, I turned back to the lake, still unable to believe how incredible this day had turned out. Last night was all but forgotten, Hunter was nearly as excited about my art project as I was, and he’d asked me out on a date.

  “Thanks for bringing me up here today,” he said.

  “You
’re welcome.”

  “I wish my dad was still here. He’d love to see a place like this.”

  His statement caught me so off guard I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared up at his profile, hoping and waiting for him to keep opening up.

  “Dad loved to fish,” he said. “Living in the city, he didn’t get to go much, but whenever he had the chance, he’d bring me to lakes like this one. Something quiet and secluded. We spent a lot of time fishing in Michigan but this would have been right up his alley too. He passed almost six years ago but sometimes it feels like just yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t lost a parent but could imagine that it was extremely painful, especially if Hunter and his father had been close. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did he pass?”

  “Cancer. He had pancreatic cancer. By the time he told me, it had progressed to stage four and he’d only had a few weeks left.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Hunter looked down at me with a sad smile. “It’s okay. He was actually the one that got me hooked on photography. He always brought a camera with him whenever we went fishing.”

  Now it made sense why he hadn’t wanted to talk about his photography mentor last night. And rather than respecting his boundaries, I’d gotten frustrated when he hadn’t wanted to share something painful. Guilt—a feeling I hated second only to fear—settled in my gut as words started pouring out of my mouth.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your family last night. No wonder you didn’t want to talk about them. How inconsiderate!” My hand slapped against my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Hunter.”

  I was the worst date. Ever.

  Even worse than the nose-picker.

  “Hey.” Hunter chuckled and lifted my hand off my forehead. “You didn’t know.”

  “Still. I’m sorry.” Mentally comparing Hunter to Everett was exceptionally unfair. “And I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thanks. We were close, me and dad. My mom died in a car crash when I was seven, and we only had each other for a few years until he remarried.”

  Two parents. Hunter had lost two parents.

  “I keep saying it, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry. It’s just that seeing places like this makes me think of him. And I guess . . . I just wanted you to know.”

  “I’m always glad to listen.” Anytime he wanted to talk, I’d make sure I was there to lend an ear.

  Staring out at the water, we resumed our silent appreciation of the scenery. Then and there, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to push for information or interrogate Hunter with personal questions. Gigi had given Jess time to come around from his jackass ways and now they were one of the happiest couples I knew. Maybe all Hunter needed was time too. I would fight my natural instinct to pry, and I would respect his privacy. I’d give him some trust that he’d tell me about himself on his own timetable.

  And stop being such a total flipping hypocrite.

  My closet was full of skeletons, skeletons I had no intention of letting out this early in a potential relationship. I couldn’t expect him to reveal his secrets when I was keeping my own.

  It was time for me to chill out and just let things develop.

  We sat quietly until a cluster of clouds blew in and took away the water’s sparkle. I was just about to suggest we head back to town when Hunter surprised me with a random question.

  “How old are you?”

  “I turned twenty-nine in March. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious. I’m thirty-four. My birthday was yesterday.”

  My mouth fell open and then snapped shut with a click. With a full arm swing, I back-handed him in the chest. “What the ever-loving hell, Hunter Faraday?”

  “What?” He shied away, clutching his chest to keep me from hitting him again.

  His guard didn’t work. I wound up again, this time smacking his rock-hard bicep. “Your birthday was yesterday? And I’m just now learning this?”

  “You had my driver’s license.”

  I smacked him again. “I don’t study those. Do you know how many driver’s licenses I have copied? Hundreds. Now don’t make excuses. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday at dinner?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” I huffed. “You’re in trouble. As soon as we get back to the motel, I’m going to tell Mom it was your birthday yesterday. That’s your punishment for not telling me last night.”

  “How is that a punishment?”

  My grin was evil. “You’ll see. Come on.” I stood up from the log and held out a hand to help him up. When he slipped his large grip over mine, consuming my slender fingers, an electric current shot up my elbow.

  Hunter felt it too, because he stuttered a bit as he stood. “Um, uh, where to now?”

  I slipped my hand out of his so I could form coherent sentences. “Back to the motel. How would you feel about a redo birthday dinner?”

  “You want to brave another night at The Black Bull?”

  I shook my head. “How about a home-cooked meal instead?”

  He smiled. “Sounds even better. Got any peas?” With a quick wink, he started back toward the truck.

  Heavens above. That wink had just ruined me for all other men.

  “I’m back!” I called into the loft.

  Hunter closed the door behind us as he followed me inside.

  Little footsteps pounded as Coby came racing down the hallway with Pickle hot on his heels. “Mommy!”

  “Hey, buddy!” I bent to give him a hug. “How was your afternoon with Nana?”

  “Good! We played with Play-Doh.”

  My eyes snapped to the dining room table to see evidence of the cursed dough. Super. Tiny specs of blue, green and yellow were scattered across the table, the chairs and the surrounding floor space. I loved my son so I indulged his affection for Play-Doh, but it was my worst enemy. No matter how much I cleaned, I always missed a piece. Inevitably, I’d find it days later after stepping on the dry, pointy shard with bare feet.

  “Darn.” Mom came walking down the hall with a towel in her hand. “I was hoping to have this all cleaned up by—” Her steps faltered when she noticed Hunter. I held back a laugh as she blushed. Like mother, like daughter. “Hunter!” She regained her composure and smoothed out her shirt as she walked to the table. “How are you? Did you enjoy your afternoon exploring?”

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Holt. And yes, we had a great time. Your daughter is an excellent tour guide.”

  “Mrs. Holt, pish.” Mom giggled as she cleaned. “Call me Marissa.”

  “Marissa.” He looked down at Coby and smiled. “Hey, Coby.”

  Coby stared at Hunter for a long moment with discerning eyes.

  “Coby, do you remember Hunter?” I asked.

  He nodded but didn’t break his study of our guest. Finally, he blinked and cocked his head to the side. “You have long hair. Isn’t long hair just for girls?”

  “Buddy.”

  I fought a laugh at the same time Mom gasped, “Coby Lawrence Holt!”

  Hunter chuckled and knelt down to Coby’s level. “It is kind of long, isn’t it? Do you think I should cut it?”

  No! This time it was my turn to gasp.

  Thankfully, Coby just shrugged. “No, it’s okay.”

  I was sure Hunter wouldn’t style his hair according to my three-year-old’s opinion, but the thought of him cutting those light-brown locks was unnerving. Hunter’s man bun was a thing of beauty but I really wanted the chance to see his hair down one day. I never thought I’d be attracted to a man whose hair was longer than mine, but boy was I ever.

  Pickle yapped and caught Coby’s attention and the pair ran over to the living room to pull out more toys.

  “What are you two up to now?” Mom asked.

  “Dinner. Guess what I learned today?” I shot Hunter a smug look as he stood back up. “Yesterday was Hunter’s
birthday.”

  “Oh!” Mom straightened and abandoned her cleaning. “And you’re new in town. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a barbeque to celebrate your belated birthday and welcome you to the community?”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Hunter said. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Trouble? It would be my pleasure! I’ll invite my quilting club, of course, and probably Brock’s skeet club. A few folks from church. Hunter, are you religious?” She didn’t wait for his answer before rattling off more potential invitees.

  “Really. I’m not one for big parties.” Hunter’s protest fell on deaf ears. Mom was now audibly brainstorming the menu.

  I looked back to Hunter who was staring wide-eyed at Mom as she yammered. I nudged his arm and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t worry. It will take her months to plan it. By that point, the whole town will have been invited and the party won’t even be about you anymore.”

  “You weren’t kidding about this as a punishment.”

  “Remember that.” I tapped my temple. “This isn’t even the worst I can do.”

  “So noted.”

  “Make yourself at home and I’ll get started on dinner.” I wanted to pat his arm, to touch him in just some small way, but I resisted.

  Walking to the kitchen, I dropped my purse on the counter, then took a quick inventory of my food supply. Peas—lots of peas—and the fixings for chicken bacon ranch wraps with sweet potato fries. It wasn’t fancy but it was something Coby would inhale without constant reminders to take a bite.

  I pulled out supplies and got the bacon going in a frying pan. Back in the living room, Hunter had settled on the floor with Coby as Pickle bounced on them both. Coby had brought out his Hot Wheels collection and was going through each car, showing them to Hunter one by one.

  “So? How’d it go?” Mom whispered, joining me in the kitchen.

  “Good.” I smiled. “He asked me out.”

  Her face broke into a huge smile and she shot her hands in the air. I laughed as she danced around the kitchen, her hair bobbing around her shoulders. When she settled down, she came right into my space for a hug. “I’m so happy for you. He’s a dreamboat.”

  “A dreamboat?” I mocked. “Please don’t start calling him that, especially to his face.”