HUTCHINS CREEK CACHE
By Deborah Garner
Cranberry Cove Press
Hutchins Creek Cache
by Deborah Garner
Copyright © 2016 Deborah Garner
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Printing – September 2016
ISBN:978-0-9960449-6-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EXCEPT FOR BRIEF TEXT QUOTED AND APPROPRIATELY CITED IN OTHER WORKS, NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM, BY PHOTOCOPYING OR BY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE COPYRIGHT OWNER/AUTHOR.
Printed in the U.S.A.
Also by Deborah Garner
Above the Bridge
The Moonglow Café
Three Silver Doves
Cranberry Bluff
Mistletoe at Moonglow
A Flair for Chardonnay
To Jay Garner
Table of Contents
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
CHAPTER ONE
Long billows of steam puffed upward, fluid shapes against a stunning blue sky. Each sudden burst painted a new image above the sturdy steel engine below: cotton candy, an elephant, a favorite childhood blanket, down feathers from a duckling.
Had she not been so exhausted, Paige could have watched the ever-changing shapes for hours. She dragged her suitcase to a wooden bench next to the train station’s ticket window. Sitting down, she slouched back against the wall and watched new sculptures of steam float upward: a rabbit’s cottontail, the concave sail of a boat, an umbrella carried off by the wind.
From the window of the train, she’d seen only pine trees and granite cliffs as they’d pulled into the station. Although she’d known the small town of Hutchins Creek was nestled among those trees, it hadn’t been visible through the mountain landscape.
“Ms. MacKenzie?”
The voice mixed with the shrill, unexpected blast of the train’s whistle, both incongruous with the peaceful surroundings.
“Yes?” Paige answered. “I’m sorry. I could barely hear you above the train.” She sized him up. He was at least seventy, dressed in jeans, a faded red shirt and a tan fisherman’s bucket hat. A bolo tie added a touch of eccentricity to his outfit.
“Happens all the time,” he said. “Can’t compete with those whistles. I’m Henry Sanders. Rose sent me down to pick you up.” He extended his arm, which Paige mistook for an attempted handshake. As he grabbed the handle of her suitcase, she brushed her hand down the right leg of her jeans, as if that had been her intent all along.
“Rosemary Hutchins?” Paige asked. She stood up and pulled the strap of her tote bag over her shoulder, letting it rest against her side.
Henry nodded, and pointed Paige toward an old Ford that was at least three decades old.
“Yes, indeed,” Henry said. “She’s just ‘Rose’ to us around these parts, but everywhere else she’s Rosemary Hutchins, great-granddaughter of Jed Hutchins. He founded Hutchins Creek.”
Paige followed Henry to the car. As he lifted the trunk lid, metal hinges squeaked. He placed Paige’s suitcase inside, and Paige winced when the lid grated again as he slammed it shut.
Henry opened the passenger door for Paige, tipping the floppy brim of his hat as she climbed in. Closing the door, he circled around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.
“Yep, good old Jed Hutchins, rest his soul,” Henry continued, “and the souls of all the other Hutchins men, too, every last one of ‘em rascals.” A faint smile crossed Henry’s face.
“Almost sounds like you knew them all,” Paige said. She searched for a seatbelt, but found none.
“Knew them all?” Henry repeated. “Do I look like I’m a hundred and fifty years old? Don’t answer that! That’s what you call a rhetorical question. But I’ve heard the stories. We all have. Those Hutchins boys are legendary.”
Paige smiled and settled into her seat, then shifted quickly when a spring inside the upholstery poked her back.
“Watch out for that seat cushion,” Henry said, a moment too late. “It’ll get you every time. Keep meaning to fix it. Poor Lulu’s gettin’ old.”
“Lulu?” Paige twisted sideways and found a comfortable spot for her shoulder. Cautiously, she leaned against the seat.
“This here car,” Henry said. He reached forward and patted the top of the dashboard affectionately. “Bought her in ’78, and she’s never let me down.”
“Reliability is a great feature,” Paige said, grasping for a reply. She jumped as the glove compartment fell open when Henry turned the key in the ignition.
“Gotta get that repaired,” Henry said. “I keep meaning to tie that thing shut until then.” He reached in front of Paige and closed the small storage area, slamming it three times before the latch caught.
Paige rested against the car’s seatback again, but avoided the upholstery spring as best she could while Henry pulled out of the parking lot. He turned left and headed immediately up a hill, following a relatively well-maintained road, barring a few potholes. Twice Paige caught the glove compartment’s door as it fell open. Finally, she placed one hand over it, and discovered a double advantage: the door stayed closed, and she kept her balance.
“Steep roads around here,” Paige commented.
“Nothin’ but,” Henry said. “If you want flat roads, you’re in the wrong town. Yes, sir – I mean ma’am – we leave flatness to Durango and Denver and any other place where the altitude stays the same for at least twenty feet at a stretch. You won’t find anywhere like that in Hutchins Creek.”
Paige smiled, but said nothing, instead taking in the tall evergreens on either side of the road. Sunlight filtered between the trees like bright mist, and the scent of pine filled the clean, fresh air. Hutchins Creek offered a completely different environment from that of her last assignment. Writing about the mineral springs in Tres Palomas, New Mexico, had been enchanting in a southwestern way, from the warm desert landscape to the mouthwatering cuisine. But the crisp mountain air and late summer foliage that surrounded her now promised a different experience.
Three minutes and two more left turns brought reliable Lulu to the front curb of the Hutchins Creek Inn, a modest western structure with a brick walkway leading to the front door. Set on a street that appeared to randomly mix commercial properties with residential, it was an attractive building surrounded by well-maintained gardens. A quaint gazebo sat in one corner of the front yard under a cluster of quaking aspens.
Had it not been for the unexpected figure on the front porch of the inn, Paige would have been tempted to check in and head straight for the gazebo, which promised to be a perfect writing spot. Instead, tossing a rushed mix of “thank you!” and “excuse me!” to Henr
y, she jumped out of the car and dashed up the brick walkway, landing in the arms of her favorite Jackson Hole cowboy. Equally excited, Jake Norris lifted Paige off the ground and swung her around in a circle before setting her back down.
“Jake! What are you doing here already? You weren’t supposed to come in until tomorrow!”
Paige fought to catch her breath. The three months in New York since her last assignment had diminished her tolerance for high altitudes. Or was it the excitement of seeing Jake that had her fighting for air? Aside from the fact they hadn’t seen each other for months, this was also the first time they’d planned ahead to be together while she was on assignment. That alone had kept Paige’s nerves twisted over the previous few weeks.
“I finished up the ranch business early. I couldn’t wait to see you,” Jake said, stepping back, but holding on to both of her hands. “You look great.”
“So do you,” Paige said. Heat crept up her neck. It was true; he looked as handsome as he always did whenever their schedules allowed them time together. He wore western boots, well-fitting jeans, and a favorite plaid shirt that perfectly matched his blue eyes, attire like he’d worn when she first met him almost a year ago. He even had a familiar silver belt buckle on, one edged with just a trace of gold.
Of course, he had the advantage, arriving early. She didn’t need a mirror to know her auburn hair was a mess from the train ride, and she was still weary from traveling from New York the day before. Had she even put make up on that morning? She couldn’t remember. She would have swiped a bit of mascara over her eyelashes and brushed some blush on her cheeks if she’d known Jake was going to be greeting her. Not that she needed blush at the moment, she realized. Her cheeks were certain to be red.
“I do hate to interrupt this tender moment.”
“Oh,” Paige exclaimed, realizing Henry had walked up beside her, bringing her belongings from the car: one suitcase and one backpack that served as an overnight bag.
“I’m sorry, Henry,” Paige said. “This is Jake Norris.” She watched as Henry set the bags down and nodded to Jake, who returned the gesture.
“Yeah, we met yesterday,” Henry said.
“Ah, I see…” Paige looked between the two men, silently accusing them of being conspirators. Her eyes settled back on Henry. “Did you pick Jake up at the station yesterday? I guess you didn’t want to spoil his surprise by telling me. I understand.”
“Thanks, but you’re giving me too much credit there,” Henry said. “I didn’t give him a ride. He drove in all on his own. I met him when I stopped by to bring Rose some magazines I was finished with.”
“You missed a great train ride, then,” Paige said, turning her attention back to Jake. “Did you drive all the way here from Wyoming?”
Jake laughed. “Yes, I did, dropped off some paperwork in Rock Springs on the way down. And ‘all the way’ isn’t that far, since Colorado and Wyoming border each other, except Jackson is at the north end of one state, and you ended up near the south end of the other.”
“Well, I don’t have complete say over these assignments,” Paige said in her defense.
It was true. Her editor, Susan, gave her a lot of leeway when it came to proposing articles for The Manhattan Post, but Susan still had final say. This time the old railroad history of the Durango area had won out over an article Paige initially pitched on haunted hotels that were farther north. Still, the train ride up from Durango had convinced her that they’d been right to go with railroads. There was something appealing, even romantic, about the old steam trains.
“I’m heading out now,” Henry said. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. MacKenzie. I’m sure I’ll see you again during your stay.”
“I hope so,” Paige said. “Thanks for the ride. And for introducing me to Lulu.” She returned Henry’s wave and then faced Jake.
“Who’s Lulu?” Jake raised an eyebrow.
“His car.” Paige smiled.
“Of course,” Jake laughed, grabbing Paige’s suitcase and opening the front door of the inn. Paige picked up the backpack and paused briefly on the threshold to accept a kiss from Jake before she stepped inside.
CHAPTER TWO
Appealing and romantic, those were the words that had come to mind when Paige thought about the old steam trains for The Manhattan Post article. But the terms took on new meaning when she considered Jake’s presence on this trip. She would have to balance work and personal time carefully to make sure the visit to Hutchins Creek didn’t become a romantic escape, or at least not merely one. It wouldn’t be a problem. Jake always respected her work assignments.
Footsteps signaled someone approaching. Jake had set Paige’s suitcase near a sturdy oak registration counter that appeared to be original to the inn, according to the similar trim around doorframes. A carved banister along stairs leading to a second floor matched the same wood.
“Paige MacKenzie, I take it, seeing as this fine gentleman accompanied you inside.”
The woman who took a place behind the counter was friendly in a matter-of-fact manner. Paige estimated her to be in her early fifties. A well-worn blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealed strong-looking, but bony wrists. The blue softly complemented her hair, a rich brown with a few wisps of gray. The smile on her lean face was welcoming.
“Rose Hutchins,” she said, opening a hefty volume of handwritten records and turning it to face Paige. “We do things the old-fashioned way around here.” She handed Paige a pen and pointed to a line in the book. “Just sign your name next to Room 24. We have you in the San Juan room. Mr. Norris is in the Prospector room, next door. An adjoining door opens to turn the two rooms into a large suite if you like. We’re finishing tidying up the suite now. It will just be a short wait.”
“Sounds perfect,” Paige said. “And I love the names of the rooms. Those are train names, right? I did some pre-trip research and remember reading those.”
“You’re exactly right,” Rose said. “All our rooms are named after trains that ran on the Denver-Rio Grande line. Mountaineer, Rio Grande Zephyr, Exposition Flyer, Shavano and Silver Vista are others. Each room is different. We keep the doors open when they’re not occupied, so you’re welcome to look inside, Ms. MacKenzie.”
“Please call me Paige.”
“As long as you call me Rose,” she replied, smiling.
Paige returned the smile. She was warming up quickly to the innkeeper.
“Make sure you visit the railroad museum while you’re here,” Rose said. “Fascinating history exhibits there. You’ll find a brochure in your room. You’re a reporter, right? I’m sure you’re already planning to stop by there. You’ll certainly pick up plenty of information.”
“Absolutely,” Paige said. “It’s one of the reasons I decided to stay in Hutchins Creek. I had hoped to stop by there this afternoon.”
Rose glanced at a tall grandfather clock. “You can still make it, but you’ll have to hurry. The museum closes at four o’clock and it’s already past three. Let me try to catch Henry. He can run you back down there. The museum is on Main Street, right behind the train depot. It’s walking distance, but it’ll be faster if he gives you a ride.”
With a quick dash to the front door and back, Rose returned. “I just caught him as he was pulling out. Go on down and take a look around. You probably won’t have time to see all the indoor exhibits, but there are outdoor displays in back. You can always wander around there. Jesse doesn’t mind people poking around after hours. The area isn’t locked.”
“Who is Jesse?” Paige asked.
“Jesse Hutchins, my younger brother, runs the museum.”
Paige turned to Jake. “What do you think?”
Jake laughed. “I think you’re eager to get digging for information, and the suite’s not ready yet, anyway. I have a few business calls to make. Why don’t I get those out of the way while you go check out the museum? Then we can have a nice dinner. I’m sure Rose can suggest a place.”
Rose
nodded her head. “A couple of great options come to mind. You two can look at menus before you go out. I especially recommend The Iron Horse.”
“It sounds like a perfect plan,” Paige said.
“Except for one thing. I’m not sure letting you explore on your own is a good idea,” Jake continued, trying to hold back a grin. “You promise not to snoop around in places where you’re not invited?”
“Absolutely,” Paige said. She, too, tried to keep a straight face. Jake knew his suspicions were justified, whether she denied them or not. Fortunately, from where he was standing, he couldn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back.
* * *
The Hutchins Creek Railroad Museum, at two stories, was larger than the neighboring buildings. Despite a need for a fresh coat of paint, it seemed to demand respect, as if it were stating its importance. Hutchins Creek was, after all, a town built around the railroad. Without that particular history, it wouldn't exist.
Paige took in the red paint, reminiscent of a country barn. Small, paned windows ran along the front of both the lower and upper floors of the structure. A brick walkway led up to the front steps, each brick with an individual or family name inscribed on it. A few were dedicated to the memory of lost loved ones. Others celebrated local schools or businesses. All spoke of community.
Although not part of the current railroad depot, the museum stood not far away. Because of the train tracks extending from behind the building, Paige suspected it was the original town station and that the route had been diverted onto newer tracks.
After she studied the outside of the museum, Paige climbed the steps and pulled on the door’s heavy iron handle. The door was a mass of solid walnut with a rounded upper edge. It was as if the thick wood contained knowledge and secrets it didn’t share with the town residents. Her curiosity piqued, Paige couldn’t wait to get inside.
The museum’s interior reminded Paige of the inside of a train depot: plenty of room for seats and waiting areas. A sales counter had been fashioned around a small section that served as a gift shop. Other counters and racks displayed books and novelty items. A cash register sat in the sales area, looking like a modern outcast amidst the nostalgic contents of the old building. Historical or not, modern businesses needed to embrace technology to survive the economy. Paige had used a combination of technology via the internet plus old-fashioned research methods to gather enough information to give her an inkling of Hutchins Creek’s history.
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