by Jen Peters
“We’ve got 55 attorneys in this firm—plenty enough to fill another Mergers and Acquisitions team if we wanted. Those are important, but there are plenty of other places for you, lad. We don’t do a lot of criminal law, but you could head for defense work if that would be more—what’s the word they use these days?—fulfilling. Or they could use you in Estates—you could help people keep their wealth in the family instead of yanking it away from them."
Mitch tried to picture himself in estate planning. It seemed like masses of paperwork to keep things steady, with no chase, no hunt, no pleasure. He had to admit those were things that gave him satisfaction. And criminal law—no! There were times you were defending an innocent person, but much of the time you were trying to get a guilty person off with as few consequences as possible. And unless you were passionate about it, that could be just as soul-sucking as M&A.
So what was he passionate about? There were divisions upon divisions in McCormick & Associates. He had only just admitted he needed a change, hadn’t thought through the next step.
“I’m not sure where I want to be, Granddad, I just know it’s not M&A anymore."
Granddad patted him clumsily on the hand. “Never you mind, lad. You’ll find your way, just don’t take too long about it. Now how about one more game of chess before this old man takes a nap?”
Mitch wandered the library while his grandfather slept. The bookcases stretched to the top of the tall ceilings, filled with leather-bound law books that attested to his grandfather’s long career. Alongside those were treatises on history, politics, and philosophy, and others on sailing and opera. He chuckled as he browsed through a book of Oscar Wilde quotes.
He finally reshelved the book and stared out the window, watching the light summer rain drip from tree leaves onto the pavement, morphing into rivulets that led to puddles. Would he morph into something completely different? Or would he stay mostly the same, just flow from a rivulet into something bigger?
What did he want? He turned over different ideas, pondered various areas in the firm, but none of them clicked. He just knew he didn’t care so much about power and prestige as he had when he’d earned his J.D. His mind drifted back to McCormick’s Creek and the inn. And Ree.
Ree. What would she want him to do? Something honorable, not something that made her lip curl in disgust. Something that would make her look at him with respect in her eyes.
Why was that so important to him? Sure, she was pretty, and she made him almost as breathless with the light in her eyes. But he’d been attracted to women before and never cared what they thought about his work. And they didn’t care either, as long as he was earning the big bucks.
But Ree was different. She was an unsophisticated, home-town girl, which was more enticing to him than he’d ever expected. The way she laughed over little things, the eagerness she had about making the inn something that would help the town—she was generous and kind and…
He gave himself a mental slap. He needed to stop thinking about her. His career, his life was in Portland. He should finish up in McCormick’s Creek, make a shift in his field of practice, and get on with his life.
McCormick’s Creek. The inn could be a big boost to the town if it brought tourists in. But the tourists wouldn’t stay if there weren’t restaurants and things to do. What else was there? How would someone spend their day before returning to a beautiful room at the inn?
The bowling alley wouldn’t cut it. There wasn’t a place for a concert venue. There were trails to hike, though, even if he hadn’t explored many for himself. Could they be developed into something?
Was there a way to entice other businesses up the mountain? What would it take to bring them in? Boutique shops? A small museum? Outdoor rentals? Just who were the clientele who would come to the McCormick Inn and use the other businesses?
He scribbled notes on a pad, his mind finally engaged to good purpose.
An hour later, Marcus let him know that Granddad was up and in the sitting room. Mitch hurried in, phrases forming in his mind. “I don’t know what kind of a career shift I want, but I’d like your help with something else first.”
“Well, good afternoon to you, too.” Granddad smiled.
Mitch looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. I hope you slept well. I suppose I’ve been thinking the whole time, and it just popped out.”
Granddad chuckled. “Not a problem, lad, not a problem. What’s got you all excited?”
“McCormick’s Creek. It’s got problems—you saw it before we made the offer on the mansion.”
Granddad’s eyes narrowed. “It seemed fine to me, much like I remembered.”
“It’s a nice little town on the surface,” Mitch agreed. “But underneath, it’s struggling. Did you notice the boarded up windows on a couple buildings? Businesses have closed, people are out of work, and there’s nothing in sight to change that.”
“Go on.”
“We’ve got the inn opening in a month, but the only restaurants are Nora’s Place and Ling’s Lucky 8. Plus McDonald’s and Pizza Hut, of course. The old movie theater plays second run movies, although the video rental store does great business, and there’s a bowling alley. That’s it for entertainment.”
His grandfather steepled his fingers, listening intently.
Mitch glanced at his notes. “I’d like to make a proposal. I’d like to use Foundation money to set up some low-interest loans, maybe even grants, to local businesses. With an advisor, they could update, streamline, do what’s necessary to modernize and stay in business. I’d also like to look into incentives to bring new businesses to town. If the inn is going to be a success—if the inn is going to bring success to McCormick’s Creek—they need more amenities.
“Guests need a wider variety of places to go for dinner,” he continued. “They need things to do that will make them want to come. Shops, maybe a little theater. There are hiking trails in the mountains that can be developed, so perhaps some sort of outdoor activity company.”
“You’re talking about turning it into a tourist town.” His grandfather frowned.
“Only partly, but isn’t that what you thought would happen when you turned the family mansion into a B & B? I’m just trying to think of other things that would give residents the ability to stay in town if they want.”
Granddad turned to look out the window, but his eyes were far away. The clock ticked. A car horn blared. Rain started pattering again on the roof, streaking down the window pane.
Finally the old man spoke. “Talk to Geoff Paulson at the Foundation to set up a few loans. I’ll send a note to expect you. The other ideas…maybe, but don’t do it without the town’s approval. Nothing’s worse than somebody coming in and taking over.”
Chapter 14
By Wednesday, Ree looked around the mansion with both satisfaction and trepidation. The dining room was set with the antique table, plus four smaller, more intimate tables. A sideboard, a real find from the 18th century, would hold cereals, bagels, and fruit.
In the parlor, the sofa and chairs ranged from floral prints in rose and moss green to stripes and solids. There were three conversation areas, and the fireplace was ready to light. That made two rooms ready.
Out in the welcome hall, the telephone guy was setting up the landlines. The alcove gave space for wet coats, and the check in counter gleamed, but Harriet was still on the hunt for a few chairs to go with the bench.
Ree glanced at her long list of things still needed: four lamps, the luxurious bath sheets, and all the stationery were ordered but hadn’t arrived yet. Harriet was determined to find “tables with character” for six remaining guest rooms. And she had just gotten a backorder notice on the special herbal shampoo.
She wished answers about Mitchell Blake could go on her list as easily.
The telephone installer programmed one last number in and closed up his bag. “All set, Ma’am. Would you like a run-through?”
“Definitely." Anything that would shortcut hassles was
a good thing.
He showed her the instructions for transferring calls and anything else the front desk might have to do, then walked her through the process. She practiced putting people on hold, transferring calls, and sending calls to voicemail. “Great,” she said. “That helps a lot.”
“Call me if you have questions later,” he said, handing her another copy of his business card.
The newly installed phone buzzed as soon as he left, a quiet sound that nevertheless got Ree’s attention.
“McCormick Inn,” she answered, wondering who would be calling when nobody knew about them.
“Hello, I’m glad your phones are finally working,” came a strong female voice. “I had to pull some strings just to get your number, and I’ve been calling since yesterday.”
“What can I help you with, Ma’am?” Ree asked, trying to keep the wariness out of her voice.
“My name is Emily Markov, and I’d like to book a wedding.”
A wedding already? That was incredible. And a very good sign of the outlook for the inn. She flipped her new appointment book to next year. “Of course. What date are you looking at?”
“August 17th.”
Ree turned the pages. “But…a Thursday?”
“No,” the woman said, “this year. In four weeks. Can you do that?”
She had to say yes. Any other answer would devastate their early reputation. “Saturday, August 17th, of course. How many guests at the wedding?”
“Small, only 30-35. We’re looking for the wedding outdoors, followed by a dinner and dancing.”
Ree made notes but knew there were a million things to finalize. “Mrs. Markov, would you like to come up and see the inn in person? We’re not ready to open yet, but there are many details that are easier to discuss if we were together.”
“I’m tied up this weekend, but are you free Monday afternoon? About three?”
This woman was certainly decisive. That could mean things would go smoothly, without a lot of changes requested, or it could mean she would hover over everything. In any case, Ree would make sure she was available.
She was still glowing with the idea of hosting a wedding at the inn when her cell phone buzzed.
“I’m sorry, Ree, we’re going to have a load of flowers to do—a little girl died,” her mother said. “Can you come?”
Ree put Mrs. Markov out of her mind while she worked for two days straight, clipping thorns, wiring stems, arranging beauty in a tribute to a life gone too soon. She didn’t know the family and could only imagine their grief, so if a little extra effort with the flowers might help them, she could certainly give it. Her mother had helped where she could, taping the grid over the tops of vases when she wasn’t taking orders or making calls to keep their supply of flowers stocked. And grumbling at how slowly her hand was healing.
Finally, Ree’s mother closed the shop and left her to finish and clean up. They’d make several trips to the funeral parlor in the morning. But with only two more arrangements to do, and with her mother gone, Ree couldn’t keep her mind focused.
Mitch would be down again on Saturday, and she hadn’t seen him since he had dropped his bombshell. If only…
But she knew her reaction was real—Mitch was bad news. And if he was bad news, more time wouldn’t fix that, no way, no how.
She pulled roses and lilies from the cooler. If she never saw another lily in her life, it would be too soon. That’s what everyone ordered, but it was so predictable.
Just as predictable as a scuzzy lawyer out to steal other people’s businesses. It really didn’t matter how perfect the job at the inn was, she didn’t want to work for a guy like that. People didn’t change, no matter how much you wanted them too.
And yet…
She knew she was a bit naive. Her dates had always been easy-going, at least until Luc. And look what had happened there. She had pinned all her hopes on him, and he’d tromped on them like a piece of litter under his feet. Not noticing, not caring.
But Mitch cared. That much was true, not just her wishful thinking. She wondered how a man could care about one person and not care about others.
Her thoughts swirled and stewed as she finished the roses and lilies and started on the last order. The confusion wasn’t sorting itself into anything she could understand. And it wasn’t going to.
She needed a different job. The inn was never meant to be permanent anyway, and she needed to get out of McCormick’s Creek. She needed options.
But there were none, and wouldn’t be any for weeks.
Finally, Ree inserted the last piece of greenery in the last bouquet, a lovely thing with glads and carnations and edelweiss, plus a few other tidbits. And not a single lily! She turned the bouquet for a last check, set it in the cooler with the rest, and heaved a sigh of relief. Her cramped hands trembled as she washed them and bandaged the small pokes and prods in her fingers. She wiped the workroom counters and swept the floor, then picked up a super-sized Diet Coke on the way home.
The house was quiet, so Ree headed for the greenhouse. Her mother was undoubtedly there, partly because it had been neglected for two days and partly to soothe her soul.
Ree stood inside the door watching her mother. The air was humid and earthy, rich with the loamy smell of Mom’s specialty potting mix. She kept the doors open at either end and the windows cracked, or it would get too warm in the summer sunshine.
Ree set aside the emotion and uncertainty of the last day. She needed to make Mom understand that as much as she loved her, she couldn’t stay in McCormick’s Creek, especially now. She was twenty six years old and should be out on her own, not hanging around helping Mom and dealing with feelings for a man she couldn’t like.
Mom’s hand would heal. It had to. If it didn’t, Ree didn’t know what she would do. The shop couldn’t afford to hire someone else, but Mom couldn’t expect her to stay here. Could she?
If it did heal and her mother made a full recovery…sometimes Ree wondered if she would look for some other reason to keep her around.
Mom finally straightened, put whatever tools she’d been using to the side, and dusted her hands on her apron.
“Mom?” Ree said gently, not wanting to startle her. She got wrapped in her own world when she was working out here.
“Ree!” Her head whipped around, and Ree could see the smile on her face, the same one that had lifted her spirits her whole life.
“Working on the batwings?” It was a dumb question, as redundant as you could get, but Ree wasn’t ready to start the serious stuff yet.
Mom nodded. “Repotted four of them to go out front. The next one is set to bloom soon.”
“Mom! You were using a knife or trowel to loosen the roots, weren’t you?”
“And what if I was?”
Ree crossed her arms. “You know darn well what the doctor said. Every time you use hand tools, you’re delaying healing and building more scar tissue.”
Her mother shrugged. “So it takes a few days longer.”
Pressure pounded in Ree’s head. “Not good enough, Mom. It’s not healing like it should anyway. What are you going to do if the doctor keeps you restricted for several more months?”
“Keep going like we are, I suppose.”
“We can’t!” Ree shouted. “I can’t keep doing two jobs! And I can’t stay here anyway!" She whirled and took off for the house.
She was still slamming pots around, looking for something to cook for dinner, when her mother came in.
“Ree,” Mom said softly, taking a frying pan from her. “Ree, what’s happened?" She put a hand on Ree’s shoulder.
Ree suddenly felt like she was eleven again, filled with anger and hurt and confusion. She looked at her mother, then stepped into her embrace and melted into sobs. She was far too old for it, but she couldn’t stop. It took long minutes before she could speak coherently. “I can’t stay here, and I can’t keep working at the inn.”
“The inn? What happened at the inn?”
Her mother huffed, going into Protective Mom mode. “What did he do to you?”
Ree waved her down. “He didn’t do anything. He just…Mom, he’s the same type of slime-ball lawyer that took Dad’s business away. And I liked him!”
Mom frowned and pulled her over to the couch. “He didn’t seem that way to me. Where did you hear it?”
“From his own mouth!” Ree pulled her knees up and hugged them. “He said he’s in Mergers and Acquisitions, and when I asked what that was, he said he helps big companies buy little ones—”
“That doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.”
“Oh no? He said he writes loopholes in the contracts so if their lawyers don’t notice, his clients can go in and basically steal it. And he said he’s really good at it!”
Her mother was quiet, looking off into space. Then she shook her head. “I can see why you don’t want to work with a man like that."
They sat for a moment, leaning close. Ree soaked up the comfort of her mother’s strokes through her hair. “Sometimes we have to do hard things,” Mom finally said.
Ree sniffed. “I know this isn’t anything like what you went through—”
“It doesn’t matter what I went through,” her mother interrupted. “What matters is that this is hard for you. But you’re strong, and you’ll find a way through it.”
“I know. Right now I just need to do my job and forget anything else. After all, he’s just another guy, right?”
“Right,” Mom grinned. “Like Chris Hemsworth is just another guy.”
Their giggles turned into full-blown laughter, and Ree felt an anvil of tension drop from her. Just because her mother was old didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a hot guy.
Then she sat up. “But Mom, you have to realize that I can’t stay and help run the shop forever. The doctor already said your hand isn’t doing as well as she’d like—you need to keep to the restrictions exactly!”
Her mother looked down sheepishly. “I know. I’ll try.”
