by Stacy Finz
“Apparently he’s buying the Roland property. Do you know the place?”
“Yes. Why’s he buying it?” Nate suddenly sounded very interested.
“Darla says that Owen heard that he’s opening a dude ranch.”
Silence. Then finally, “Hmm. Do me a favor—the next time you talk to Emily, ask her about it. Clay would know about that kind of news.”
“Why? Are you worried?”
“Not worried, just curious. How we doing today?”
“Good, especially for a Tuesday. Only four vacancies.”
“Nice. Where the hell is Andy?”
“He’s at lunch, Nate.” Sam felt protective of Andy, even though he was a loafer.
“All right. I’ll be back in time for your Sacramento deal. If you have any emergencies you can always call Maddy.”
“I’m fine, Nate. See you when you get back.” She hoped it would be soon. Only because having a little eye candy in the office broke up the workday.
“Thanks for taking care of the place and for the intel.”
“You’re welcome. See, I’m reliable.” Sam missed dueling with him. At first, he’d intimidated her. But she’d learned that as long as she worked hard, Nate didn’t have a problem with her speaking her mind. In fact, she got the impression he enjoyed clashing swords with her.
She went back into the kitchen to dish some more with the girls, but Harlee and Darla needed to get back to work. Darla had a cut and color at one thirty and Harlee wanted to hunt down Lucky. Reporter on the prowl.
“You’ll tell us if you find out anything?” Sam said.
“If I find anything, I’m getting the story out as fast as my fingers can type it.” Harlee updated the Nugget Tribune, once a weekly rag, now a daily website, constantly. The residents loved it because they could read up-to-the-minute Nugget news—like when Maddy and Rhys gave birth to Emma—on their phones. “Last thing I need is ESPN scooping me in my own backyard.”
Sam planned to watch the website like a hawk today. Four months ago, the goings-on of a hometown rodeo star wouldn’t have rated high on her scale of interests. But being up on Nugget gossip was a town requirement, and Sam had to admit that it made her feel like part of the community. She also didn’t want this Lucky Rodriguez character horning in on her business.
In her office, she plugged “dude ranch” into her computer search engine and checked out various sites. A lot of rustic ones, where the guests stayed in bunkhouses and worked for their supper. She didn’t see how those would attract the same kind of clientele as the Lumber Baron. It was the ones that were like resorts with swimming pools, game rooms, and four-star chefs that had her worried. A lot of those specialized in large events like weddings, family reunions, and corporate retreats. Not good if that’s what this Lucky Rodriguez fellow had in mind. Not good at all.
“Hey, Sam?” Back from lunch, Andy, who hadn’t learned the fine art of knocking, barged into her office. “Your dad’s on the phone.”
Oh no! “Did you tell him I was here?”
“Yeah,” Andy said. “You want me to tell him you’re in the bathroom?”
“No, no. I’ll take it.” She looked at the blinking line on her telephone and wondered why she hadn’t heard it ring. Andy, of course, just stood there. “Thanks, Andy.”
She sat there, waiting for him to leave, and when he finally got the clue, Sam shut the door behind him. Blowing out a long breath, she answered the phone.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“So I guess you got a call from my attorney.” She held the phone receiver against her chest and counted to five. He was still yelling when she came back on. “Daddy, Daddy . . . Daddy . . . Oh, for goodness’ sake, will you just let me get a word in?”
“Do you know what kind of negative press a stunt like this could cost our family? Really, Samantha, why are you doing this? Why would you intentionally try to embarrass us this way?”
“I haven’t filed anything yet, Daddy. But I will if you leave me no choice.”
“All I want is for you to come home and stop this nonsense. Is that too much for a father to ask?”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Can’t you understand that I want my own life?”
“You can have your own life, here, at Dunsbury Hall, where you belong.”
She cringed. Dunsbury Hall. Now that she’d left, it sounded so pretentious. “I like it here, Daddy.”
“What about Royce?”
He didn’t know about Royce, and even if he did, he wouldn’t understand. “There is no Royce,” she said. “There is zero chance of reconciliation.”
Her father started to say more on the Royce topic when Andy rushed into her office again. “We’ve got trouble.”
“Daddy . . . Daddy, I have to go. I’ll call you tonight. Love you.” She hung up and got to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
“The couple in room 207 say the bathroom above them is leaking. All their stuff’s ruined.”
Great! Why did this have to happen on her watch? She went out into the lobby to find two livid people. Neither of them said a word, just folded their arms over their chests and stared daggers at her.
Finally the woman said, “We want our money back and we want to be reimbursed for the damage.”
Nate would surely kill her, but what else could Sam do in a situation like this. “Of course,” she said. Her ready acquiescence seemed to surprise the woman. “We are so sorry for the inconvenience this caused. Let me just run upstairs and assess the damage and then I’ll get you settled.”
She grabbed the master key and jogged up the stairs, praying that the room wasn’t a swimming pool. It turned out it was only a slow drip coming through the ceiling. Not the end of the world. Sam wiped the dresser where the water had started to puddle, grabbed a bucket from the utility closet, and placed it under the leak. Crisis averted. At least until she could get Colin out to fix the problem.
When she returned to the registration desk, the husband put his open valise on the top of the counter and shoved it at her. “All these clothes, ruined.”
They merely looked soggy to Sam. She glanced at the front desk cheat sheet for a name and said, “Mr. Cole, we’re terribly sorry. The Lumber Baron would be happy to launder your clothing or else pay for your cleaning bill, whichever you prefer. We’ll also get you moved to a dry room.”
“We don’t want another room, we want our money back,” he said. “As for the clothes, these will all need to be replaced—not laundered.”
Sam felt the mother of all headaches coming on and tried to guess what Nate would do in a situation like this. The leak was hardly the deluge these people were making it out to be, but wasn’t there a rule that the customer was always right?
“We will absolutely reimburse you for the room, Mr. Cole. You and your wife are welcome to stay in another room as our guests. As for the garments, I really think a good laundering ought to do it.”
“That’s unsatisfactory,” he said.
“Could we at least try?” She looked inside the suitcase again. “It looks like it’s mostly jeans and sweatshirts.”
The man continued to argue with her, when Mrs. Cole stepped in. “How long would it take?”
“I could have it taken care of right now.” Sam hoped that would appease them because she really didn’t think the Lumber Baron should have to buy the Coles a new wardrobe. Compensating them for the room seemed above and beyond. God, now she was sounding like Nate.
“All right,” Mrs. Cole said. “We’ll have lunch at that place across the square in the meantime.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cole. Would you like me to get another room ready for you? Or, if you prefer, I could give you directions to the Beary Quaint just down the road.” That would be her revenge. Although she’d never been inside the motor lodge, Sam had driven by enough times to know the place was of a much lower caliber than the Lumber Baron. Shabby, really. Besides, Nate and Maddy didn’t like t
he Beary Quaint owners. So let them deal with difficult guests.
Mrs. Cole looked at her husband, who gave a slight nod. Apparently, he’d had time to cool off and wanted to stay.
“Great,” Sam said. “We’ll get that ready for you and have your fresh laundry delivered to your new room.”
As soon as they were out the door, Sam called Colin. Besides making stunning furniture, the man could fix anything. He’d been intimately involved in the Lumber Baron’s rehab, so he’d know exactly how to trace the leak. Afterward, she found Loretta, the inn’s head of housekeeping, and gave her the bundle of laundry with instructions to make the Coles’ clothes as shiny and new as if they’d come straight from the factory.
Sam sighed with relief, thinking her troubles were over. Then she found two hundred pounds of cowboy in her lobby.
Chapter 7
“Lucky Rodriguez.” He clutched his cowboy hat in one hand and held out the other to shake Sam’s hand.
“How do you do? I’m Samantha Dunsbury.”
He eyed her up and down, not in a suggestive way but in a way that said How did a girl like you wind up in a town like this?
Admittedly, she had on a Chanel suit. She wore it in Nugget because no one here would know it was from last spring’s collection. Then those big brown eyes swept the lobby, taking in everything from the stained glass to the mahogany staircase.
“Well, I’ll be damned. This place never looked like this when I lived here.” He continued to gape, then let out a low whistle. “How much this set you back?”
She blinked, because where she came from people weren’t so blunt—especially when it came to money.
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Rodriguez. But it is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said, and poked his head inside the front parlor. “Wow. You able to fill this joint?”
“You seem surprised.” Sam didn’t want to divulge too much information, but Lucky appeared so genuinely impressed with the restoration that she let it slip that they had very few vacancies.
“Nice,” he said, and wandered into the dining room, checking out the fireplace and the built-ins that Colin had painstakingly stripped of layers of paint and brought back to the original wood grain. Sam knew because she’d seen the before and after pictures.
“Would you like a tour?”
“I would,” he said. “But I was actually hoping to meet with the owner. I take it you’re not the owner.”
“No, Mr. Rodriguez. I’m the Lumber Baron’s event planner. Nate and Maddy Breyer own the inn. Nate’s in San Francisco and Maddy’s on maternity leave. Perhaps I could help you?”
Okay, she was probably overstepping, but curiosity was killing her. Plus, Nate wanted her to do reconnaissance. Hadn’t he asked her to feel out Emily?
“Call me Lucky.”
She nodded, noticing that he wasn’t as tall as he’d seemed in the pictures Harlee had found on the Internet. Maybe five-eleven at the most—and ripped. He was certainly handsome in a rugged kind of way, but not nearly as good-looking as Nate. And why was she comparing them?
“A tour would be great,” he said. “I’m buying some property on the other side of town and was hoping to pick your brains.”
“Oh?” Sam tried to sound nonchalant as she took him through the main floor of the inn.
“You know the old Roland summer camp?” He explored the kitchen with her but seemed more interested in the common rooms.
“I’ve never been there, but I’m familiar with the place.”
“I’m planning to raise rodeo stock.” When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Connecticut.”
“Connecticut, huh?” He lifted his brows and rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Then let me break it down for you. I’m raising bucking bulls, broncs, and roping steers for rodeos and PBR events.”
“But you ride bulls, right?”
He looked a little taken aback, then flashed a cocky grin. “So you know who I am?”
Busted. “People talk. They also say you’re opening a dude ranch.”
“I don’t know where they came up with that. Owen, right? The guy never could get a story right.”
“So you’re not opening a dude ranch?”
“Nope. A cowboy camp. For corporate team building and anyone who wants to experience ranch life.”
“How’s a cowboy camp different from a dude ranch?” Because it sounded a lot like a dude ranch to her.
“For one thing we won’t be doing any lame nose-to-tail trail rides. The guests will get to ride bulls, broncs, and wrestle steers.”
She wondered what insurance agency would be crazy enough to give him a policy. “What do you want to know from us? It sounds like you have a good idea of what you want to do, and bull riding is your bailiwick, not ours.” She laughed at the notion.
They climbed the stairs so she could show him one of the vacant rooms—not the one with the leak, of course. He seemed to want to see everything and couldn’t be more complimentary.
“I want to talk to you guys about the lodging end of it. I don’t know fu . . . fudge about running a hotel. I’m even thinking that some of our more finicky participants may prefer better digs than a bunkhouse, and we could work out some kind of a crossover deal.”
“You’re not planning to have private rooms?” Her head was already spinning with ideas—like maybe some of the Lumber Baron guests, especially the event guests, might like to do a day at cowboy camp. This could actually be a boon.
“Nah, not the kind of place I have in mind. I’m looking at something real authentic. At the end of the day, the place will still be a working ranch.”
“You’d have to talk to Nate,” Sam said. “But I think we could probably work something out.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He glanced around room 200 at the antique four-poster bed, crocheted canopy, and thick Aubusson rugs. “They all look like this?”
She showed him the bathroom, which had a vanity with a double sink, spa tub, and a walk-in shower. “Some are even better appointed. And we have a couple of suites on the third floor to accommodate families.”
“How many rooms total?” he asked.
“Twenty. Some of the suites can sleep up to five.”
“Yep,” he said, almost like he was talking to himself. “This will work real fine.”
Lucky turned to look at her like he was taking her measure. “You’re the event planner, huh? Maybe you want to moonlight and do a little work for me? I could use help getting this thing off the ground.”
“I don’t think my current employer would appreciate that.” Not to mention that she knew nothing of cowboy camps or bull riding. Then again, she’d known nothing about the hospitality industry until four months ago. “But if Nate likes the idea of us doing business together, I’m sure we could work something out.”
“When will this Nate fellow be around?” He was clearly anxious to get going on the project.
“Later this week. How soon until you open your dude . . . uh, cowboy camp?”
“The property needs work, the bunkhouses are a disaster, and the lodge could use some cleaning. But I have a crew coming in tomorrow. Shouldn’t take too long. My stock’ll be here in a month. I’m hoping to open by summer.”
It seemed rather ambitious to Sam, but clearly he envisioned the camp as a working ranch, not a resort. In that case, maybe he could set up quickly.
“Will you do meals?” If so, they’d be in competition for a chef. Emily wasn’t going to stay on forever at the Lumber Baron and they were having enough trouble finding someone to replace her.
“Three squares a day for the folks who stay. I’ve already got a cookie.” When she looked confused, he said, “That’s a ranch cook—an old buddy of mine. This’ll be the real deal. No fancy California cuisine, no spa treatments, no Sleep Number beds. If our guests want that, then we’ll send them to you.”
“This is just a hypothetical,�
� Sam said. “But what if our guests wanted to participate in your cowboy camp, but only for a day or a few hours?”
“We could work something out,” he said, and seemed to be examining her shoes. Jimmy Choos. “How long have you lived in Nugget?”
“Less than a year. How come you chose Nugget for your camp?”
“I’m from here, born and raised.” He said it with pride, even got a gleam in his eyes.
Well, why not? Despite the town’s somewhat run-down appearance, Sam thought the Sierra was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. Here a person could breathe.
And just be.
“What brought you here?” he asked.
Apparently he hadn’t read the news clips—didn’t know she was the “runaway bride.” “I was looking for a change and fell in love with the place.” Lucky didn’t probe, which was fine with her.
“I need to get going.” He handed her a business card. “But we’ll be in touch?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you as soon as Nate gets back.”
Two days later, Nate pulled into his garage at Sierra Heights. He’d left the city after six to avoid the evening traffic and stopped near Roseville to get a bite. Five hours on the road, plus a nine-hour work day. He was bone tired.
Once inside the house, Nate switched on a few lights, went into his bedroom, and automatically glanced out his window at Sam’s room. It had become a bad habit.
Her house was dark, which meant she’d turned in for the night. What did he expect? It was after eleven. More important, why did he care? A question he wasn’t prepared to dwell on.
He’d already talked to her on the phone today and gotten caught up on the daily sales numbers, the continuing saga of the leak in room 207, and more about Lucky Rodriguez, who, according to Sam, was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Nate hadn’t even met the guy and already knew he didn’t like him. Although Nate agreed with Sam that Lucky’s dude ranch—cowboy camp—whatever he wanted to call it—could be a license to mint money for the Lumber Baron, he’d have to meet the guy. See if he was on the level.
Nate continued to stare out his window at hers. At one point he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker from a television. He deliberated for few minutes and then said, “Ah, screw it” and opened his bedroom slider to the back deck, hopped over the railing, walked to Sam’s house, and rang her doorbell.
