by Stacy Finz
Rhys let his gaze wander over to Maddy’s table. Clay had been right about her being pretty. In Houston, a lot of the women wore tons of makeup, stiff hairdos, flashy clothes. He much preferred Maddy’s fresh face. He liked the shades of gold and red swirling through her brown hair, which she’d shoved up into a kind of twist. And she did nice things to a pair of jeans and sweater.
Too bad she was already married. Rhys was no saint, but when it came to married women he had a strict hands-off policy. Otherwise, she might be nice for whiling away the tedious Nugget hours.
He turned his attention back to Clay. “I’m not getting back in a damn uniform.”
Clay nearly choked on his coffee. “Come again?”
“You ever wear one of those things? They itch.”
“Okay. So don’t wear it. I doubt anyone will care. As long as you’re loaded for bear, that’s good enough for this town.”
Rhys lowered his voice. “The salary’s a nice consolation. I wasn’t expecting that kind of money for a small-town cop.”
“Surprised me, too.” Clay motioned a server over. “But the city charter says the pay has to be competitive with other police chiefs and that’s the going rate in California.”
“You don’t see me arguing.” Rhys ordered a club sandwich, a side of fries, and an iced tea. When the server left, he asked, “But can the city afford it?”
“Looks like.”
Rhys moved in a little closer to the table. “I know you went to bat for me on this job, Clay, and I really appreciate it. I won’t mess you up on this.”
“I know you won’t. My prediction is they’ll give it to you permanently after you prove yourself.”
“I’ll prove myself,” Rhys said. “But Houston’s my place.”
“What’s so great about Houston?”
“I’m due for promotion there. Lieutenant. It’s a huge department . . . lieutenant’s a really big deal and a decent pay hike.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. The McCreedys had always been his salvation here and he didn’t want to come off ungrateful. “To tell you the truth, Clay, this place isn’t good for me—stirs up a lot of bad stuff. Somewhere else . . . well, I can be a different person.”
“Rhys,” Clay said. “A place doesn’t define you. Let it go, man.”
Rhys wished he could. But from the moment he’d crossed Nugget’s city limits that old feeling of isolation crept through him like a metastasizing cancer. He looked over at Maddy’s table again. The Ponderosa’s two proprietors had joined her group and the three women looked pretty chummy. “So what’s the deal with the new owners?”
“Mariah and Sophie?”
“Yeah.”
Before Clay could answer, their food came and he dug into his heaping plate of steak and eggs like a starving man. “What do you want to know? Are they a couple? Yeah, they are.”
“Shep says they’re trying to take over the town.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised. They moved up from the Bay Area about a year ago. Made some waves when they fixed up the place.”
“Why?” Rhys held up his glass to signal the server for a refill.
Clay shook his head. “It’s stupid. Some of the old-timers accused them of yuppifying Nugget.”
“Yuppifying?” Rhys had to cover his face so the kid pouring the iced tea wouldn’t see him laughing. “So how will these same people feel about the new inn? Because it sounds like Maddy and her brother have all kinds of grand plans to buff up downtown.”
“You grew up in this town. How do you think people will react? I’m sure a number of the businesses will fully support it. But it’s bound to cause a shitstorm with some of the rest of the town.”
“Even if it helps the local economy?” Rhys might have his doubts about a fancy hotel succeeding in a country town snowed-in three months out of the year. But he couldn’t believe residents would actually stand in its way. People were hurting. Anything that would bring money to Nugget, or create jobs, would be a boon to the community.
“Look at the good side, when they start throwing Molotov cocktails, you’ll get to shoot someone.”
Just then, a middle-aged lady in turquoise jeans, a white blouse tied at her waist, and an arm full of clunky bracelets sidled up to their table.
“Clayton McCreedy, I found you a woman,” she announced, scooting her butt next to Rhys’s in the booth.
“I wasn’t aware I was looking for one,” Clay said. “Donna, you remember Rhys Shepard, now our new police chief?”
“Of course.” Pinching a silverware setting from the next table, she helped herself to some of Clay’s eggs. She grabbed a shaker from the caddy and sprinkled the rest of his scramble with salt, then tried another bite. “Not bad. Not as good as mine. But not bad at all.” With the napkin, she dabbed the corner of her mouth.
Clay looked around the crowded dining room. “Tater seems to be packing them in. This place used to be deader than four o’clock before they hired a local. The Ponderosa cutting into your business at the Bun Boy?”
“Nah.” She waved her hand through the air. “It’s good to have a sit-down restaurant. And I like the gals, Sophie and Mariah. They add a little diversity to this white-bread town.”
Donna turned to Rhys. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said a little sheepishly.
“What’s with the ma’am? Do I look ancient to you? I’m not even old enough to be your mother.”
“Sorry.” Women around here sure were touchy. “It’s a Texas thing. You know . . . being courteous.”
“This is California. We’re all about being rude.” That made Rhys’s mouth quirk.
“Well,” she continued. “I have a perfect memory of you. People here used to think you were a wild boy, more than likely headed for prison. But I remember pulling into the Nugget Gas and Go . . . you were filling an old can . . . and I couldn’t figure out the newly installed pump system. You came over and politely showed me how to work it, then filled my tank. And here you are, chief of police. Go figure!”
She leaned back against the plush seat. “So, you’ve come back to take care of all the people who didn’t take care of you?”
The woman was obviously missing a filter. Rhys kind of liked her, though. “It’s just temporary, until I can square away my dad.”
“How is Shep?”
“He’s getting by.”
“You let me know if there is anything I can do.” Donna pulled a pen and a small notebook from her enormous purse, scribbled a name and number on the page, ripped it out and shoved it at Clay. “Call her. She’s gorgeous, newly divorced and has kids.” With a quick pat to Rhys’s thigh, she slid across the bench and wiggled out from behind the table. “You single, Chief?”
Before he could answer that he wasn’t in the market, Clay interjected. “He’s single and looking.”
“Well, then, I’ll keep my eye out,” Donna said, and Rhys watched her size up his vital statistics like a world-class tailor.
After she sauntered off, Rhys pulled the paper from Clay’s grip to read it. “What’re you, The Bachelor now?”
“The women of Nugget have decided it’s time I started dating again. But thanks to you, they now have fresh meat.” Clay reached over and clapped him on the shoulder.
He looked at Clay pensively and nudged his chin at him. “You ready to start dating again?”
Clay shrugged. “When I can sneak away, I’ve got a flight attendant I’m seeing in Reno. But I wouldn’t call what we’re doing dating.” He stared into the distance for a moment. “The boys are having enough trouble adjusting. Hell, Rhys, I spent most of their lives on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Persian Gulf. They hardly know me. The last thing they need right now is me dragging strange women through their lives.”
Maybe at some point a woman who wasn’t strange would be good for them, Rhys thought, but didn’t say. After his own mother had left, he used to fantasize about having a stepmother who would take care of him, mak
e him lunches the way the other boys’ moms did. But Shep had never dated.
“Next time you want to sneak off to Reno, I’ll hang out with Justin and Cody. It’d be good for them to have a man around.”
“You always were delusional. But I’ll keep it in mind.” Clay pulled a couple of bills from his wallet and put them on the table. “That should cover both of us. I need to get home—feed some cattle before the boys get out of school.”
Rhys finished his tea and checked Maddy’s table again. Her meeting seemed to be in full swing. Hopefully she didn’t expect a ride back to Donner Road, because he needed to beat it home.
And getting too cozy with his new neighbor wasn’t such a hot idea.
Chapter 3
Nugget’s commercial district wore a suit of dinginess. Although Maddy had walked these streets numerous times before the mansion had closed escrow, she’d never inspected the square the way a discerning tourist might. Not until now.
The park looked well kept. But as she and Nate strolled from the Ponderosa to the Lumber Baron she made a list of transgressions in her head.
Broken signs with missing letters. A jungle of weeds sprouting in the planting strips between the curbs and sidewalks. Building façades drab from age and weather. Yet, despite the overall disheveled appearance, a couple of the downtown shops seemed to be doing a brisk business. There was a combination dance-yoga studio, a resale clothing shop, a sporting goods store, a bike and kayak rental service, and a dumpy kiosk that advertised horseback, boat, river, hiking, and railroad tours. An old-fashioned red, white, and blue pole signified that a barber shop shared the same block with a burger joint called the Bun Boy, where a smattering of people waited in line.
“You taking that place on Donner Road?” Nate asked, interrupting her silent audit.
“Yep. Signed the papers, met the landlord’s son, got the key. I’m good to go.”
Nate slowed his pace almost to a stop, signaling that he was about to impart some big, bad brotherly wisdom. “Mad, you’ll see, this’ll be good . . . Dave’s an asshole.”
Lately, every conversation, no matter how innocuous, seemed to take a detour to Dave. How ’bout those Giants? And what’s the deal with your cheating dirtbag husband? The comments served as a constant reminder of her poor judgment. How, for the entirety of a five-year marriage, do you not know that your husband’s in love with his cousin’s wife?
Even before Maddy had come into the picture, Dave had loved Gabriella. Since he couldn’t have her, he’d settled for second best. But when Max died, it had changed everything.
“What does Dad think of us turning this place into an inn?” she asked Nate as they reached the wrought iron fence that surrounded the mansion and found themselves gazing through the posts.
Once stately, the fence had gone to rust and ruin. Broken glass bottles, old car parts, and a dirty diaper littered the swath of brown grass that passed for a front yard. Most of the mansion’s windows had been busted, the paint was peeling, and the Victorian’s ornate gingerbread trim was probably beyond repair.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, someone had scrawled “John Sucks Ass” in red paint across the carved oak entry doors.
“He likes the idea—thinks it’s a good opportunity. When we get closer to opening, he and Mom want to come and help us.”
“That would be nice.” Their parents lived in Madison, Wisconsin, and loved coming to California for visits. “Maybe Claire and Jackson can come, too, bring the baby.”
He nodded.
“Did you tell Mom and Dad about Dave and me, Nate?”
His eyes dropped to his shoes. “They suspected something when you didn’t go to France. So I just told them a little—the barest of details.” At least he had the decency to look embarrassed while he lied.
The Breyers were incapable of keeping secrets from each other. Something as minor as a runny nose lit up the phone lines. A breakup, and they’d be on her doorstep. As much as she loved her parents, the whole thing with Dave was hugely humiliating and she’d prefer to get some of her dignity back before they started hovering. Although they’d never said it, Maddy had known that they didn’t approve of Dave. They thought he was self-entitled and spoiled and that the Wellmonts were showy.
It wasn’t until Maddy was an adult that she realized how well-off her parents were. Their home, though lovely, was modest, allowances were always tied to chores, and summers were spent working in the family business, housekeeping.
“Stop screening their calls,” Nate said. “They’re worried about you. The only reason they’ve laid back this long is because they know you have me to lean on—and Sophie and Mariah—who, by the way, say Dave’s dead to them.”
She appreciated the loyalty of friends. Six years ago the Ponderosa’s owners had come into their lives through Sophie’s younger sister, a corporate lawyer whom Nate had dated for about fifteen minutes. Back then, Sophie had worked in marketing, and Nate had just started his company. He’d hired her to promote a few of his hotels and something about the two of them had clicked. Dave used to tease that Sophie had the qualities Nate dreamed of in a wife except for one really important one. She didn’t do men.
Maddy would add, “Nate, she’s your feminine ideal: smart, beautiful, and totally out of your reach.”
A year ago, Mariah and Sophie had left San Francisco to find a slower way of life here in the Sierra mountains, ultimately taking over the Ponderosa. Then the Lumber Baron had come on the market and Sophie had immediately called Nate. The opportunity had presented itself at a perfect time—Maddy needed a distraction from her disastrous marriage and Nate wanted to buy his own hotel. And here they were, one big happy family again.
But right now, even Sophie and Mariah’s allegiance seemed like cold comfort.
Maddy pushed open the iron gate, which squeaked like something out of a cheesy horror movie. The front porch sagged and bowed, making her question how much longer it would safely hold a person. Despite her misgivings, she climbed up on the veranda and felt it slump under her weight.
“I’ve got a few ideas for the inn I want to talk to you about,” she said as Nate joined her on the porch.
“Great. Let’s go inside, it’s getting cold.”
She motioned for him to go first. “Age before beauty.” Even though they had walked through the place repeatedly it still gave her the creeps.
“God, you’re such a wimp.”
She watched him enter and then hesitantly followed. A long time ago the foyer had been grand, but water damage stained the high ceilings and the wallpapered lath and plaster walls showed signs of mold. The oak floors were badly scarred, but the inlaid wooden medallion in the center of the room remained intact. The moldings and trim work hadn’t been so lucky—huge chunks were missing. The elaborately carved staircase—probably oak or mahogany—had been painted hot pink.
Nate led her into the kitchen, where appliances had been ripped out of the walls and the cabinetry’s antique leaded glass was smashed. She and Nate sat up on the Formica countertops—a remnant of a seventies makeover.
“Tell me what you’ve got.”
“I was thinking that we team up with Soph and Mariah in persuading the rest of the merchants on the square to form a business association. The place looks like hell, but if we can rev up the town, get people excited about the inn and the money it’ll bring, maybe everyone will pitch in to make the square more presentable.”
“Yeah, I like it. Sophie’s marketing background will come in handy. But I’ll be spread pretty thin over the next few weeks in San Francisco. So you two will have to lead that effort.”
Nate was only thirty-four and already operated nine hotels in the Bay Area. He planned to drive the four hours to Nugget every few weeks to check on the progress of the Lumber Baron, but for the most part it would be Maddy’s baby. That included everything from supervising the restoration to devising a marketing plan.
“Of course,” she said. “You want to hear my other idea?�
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“Yep.”
“How do you feel about adding some Donner Party elements to the theme of the inn?”
Nate looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“Uh . . . ’cause nothing says hospitality like cannibalism?”
“Give me a break, Nathaniel. It happened in 1846. It’s a huge part of the town’s history—California’s history—and Nugget’s done nothing to capitalize on it. Look at towns like Northfield, Minnesota, where they play up all that Jesse James bank raid stuff, or Southern cities that stage reenactments of the Civil War. You can’t go to a Bodega Bay hotel or restaurant that doesn’t make some reference to The Birds.”
“That was a movie, Maddy.”
“You know what I mean. Here, we have a threefer”—she counted on her fingers—“gold rush, railroad, and the most shocking tragedy in California history. People love that stuff.”
Nate was paying attention now, studying her intently, as if he thought she’d finally emerged from her pity party and was taking this project seriously. Nate took everything seriously. Even as a kid, her brother’s ambition had bordered on pornographic. At fourteen—four years older than her and two years older than Claire—he’d celebrated his birthday by making a list of goals and tacking it to the corkboard that hung over his bedroom desk.
Goal #1:Graduate from Harvard summa cum laude (like what fourteen-year-old even knows what summa cum laude is?). Goal #2:Own the most successful hotel management company in the world by age twenty-five. Goal #3:Only drive a Jaguar. Goal #4:Buy the Green Bay Packers.
He’d accomplished at least some variation of three out of the four.
“So, how do you suggest we implement this Donner Party thing?” he asked.
Maddy wasn’t quite sure yet, but had a few ideas. “We don’t have to go overboard. Maybe copy some old pictures from the Historical Society and dedicate one wall in the inn to a photo essay about the event. Stock the library with historical accounts, put a little blurb about it in our sales literature—that kind of thing.”
