Once Upon a Texas Christmas

by Winnie Griggs

  It seemed Judge Madison had neglected to impart yet another piece of crucial information. He knew his employer well enough to believe it wasn’t an oversight. Which meant there was more to this than appeared on the surface. What was he up to?

  For now, though, that question would have to wait. He hadn’t counted on having to hire new staff so soon. Maybe he could find someone to man the desk temporarily. “When are you planning to leave?”

  “Norma and I will board the morning train tomorrow. We’re already packed and ready.”

  “Do you have any recommendations for who can step in until we hire a permanent replacement?”

  The man turned to retrieve a room key. “Abigail’s been hanging around here the past few days, studying the place and trying to learn what she can about the different jobs.”

  He supposed that would make her insight into the staffing process more useful. “That was enterprising of her.”

  Crandall smiled. “You’ll find Abigail is a fast learner.”

  Seth decided to change the subject. “How many guests do you have currently?”

  “We’re limiting our bookings to three guest rooms, the ones farthest from the construction. The noise level is a problem for the other rooms.” The man handed him the key. “You’ll be the exception. I have you in room six—top of the stairs and second room on the right.” He cast a furtive glance at Seth’s cane. “My sister and I occupy the first-floor suite. It’ll be vacant starting tomorrow if you prefer to have that space.”

  Seth’s jaw tightened at this reminder of his perceived infirmity. But he merely nodded and turned toward the stairs. Though he’d long ago accepted that this was how he would be viewed, he still felt the sting each time it happened.

  As he climbed the stairs he stepped deliberately, regardless of the pain. It helped him to concentrate on the job ahead. He would take a look at the state of the construction as soon as he freshened up from his trip.

  All in all, from his initial look, the atmosphere here was overblown and cozy rather than elegant, rustic rather than refined. Nothing here spoke of sophistication and luxury.

  Could he really count on Miss Fulton to handle the decor so that it was brought up to the judge’s normal standards? And to get it all done in time to wrap up by the end of the year?

  Why couldn’t the judge have partnered him with someone who had more experience than the chatty young redhead?

  How had his employer described her in his letter—witty, imaginative and charmingly spirited, a fast learner and an able partner? High praise from a man he’d always thought of as keenly perceptive.

  But then again, the judge only knew her via correspondence. He’d never actually met Miss Fulton in person.

  So, no offense to his employer, but he would form his own opinions about just how capable the woman actually was.

  And so far, he was not impressed.

  Chapter Three

  “Did you have a chance to look around yet?” Abigail had just taken a seat across the table from Mr. Reynolds in the hotel dining room.

  He inclined his head. “I did.”

  The man didn’t seem to be any more forthcoming now than he’d been earlier. “And what are your thoughts?” she prodded.

  “In my opinion, having everything completed by Christmas is an ambitious goal, but it is definitely achievable.”

  “Oh.” Was this something he and the judge had discussed? “I know Judge Madison is planning to visit over the holidays, but I wasn’t aware that that was our deadline.”

  He gave her an infuriatingly superior look. “It’s always good to have an end date in mind when starting any project. And Christmas seems an appropriate one in this case, especially since Judge Madison will be in town.”

  Choosing to ignore his tone, she smiled. “I shall defer to you on that since I understand you have experience overseeing this sort of work.”

  “I have experience in many different areas.”

  Goodness, did the man have to be so stiff and solemn all the time?

  Della Long, who had taken over the kitchen when Norma Crandall became too ill, arrived to take their orders. Abigail performed the introductions, then they made their selections from the very limited menu.

  Once they were alone again, Mr. Reynolds picked up the conversational reins. “Mr. Crandall introduced me to Walter Hendricks, the man handling the construction.”

  Abigail nodded. “Mr. Hendricks and his two sons are good men and they do good work. You can see examples all over town, including the schoolhouse and the town hall.”

  “So you know them personally?”

  “Of course. It’s a small town. Most everyone here knows everyone else.” His lack of conversation was making it difficult for her to discern how he felt about things. “Did you have the opportunity to inspect their work?”

  “Briefly. I plan to inspect it in more detail over the next few days.”

  “Well, I’m certain you’ll be pleased with what you see.”

  He merely nodded noncommittally.

  Deciding things might go better if she learned something about him personally, she changed the subject. “I actually have a favor to ask.”

  He raised a brow. “And that is?”

  Abigail smiled at the touch of wariness in his tone. “It’s nothing onerous, I assure you.” She retrieved a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. “My brother, Everett, owns the local newspaper and I help occasionally. I’d like to interview you for the next issue.”

  Mr. Reynolds frowned. “I can’t imagine anything about me would be noteworthy.”

  Was he just being modest or did he really think so little of himself? “Everyone has a story of some sort to tell. Besides, folks are always interested to learn more when someone new moves to town. And the hotel renovation itself is big news around here.” She opened the pad. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  His expression didn’t change but she sensed his hesitation. Or was it annoyance?

  He finally waved a hand, as if in surrender. “Very well, but let’s keep it short. There’s not much to tell anyway.”

  Careful to keep the note of victory from her expression, she smiled. “Thank you. Let’s start with you telling me something about yourself—where you’re from, your family, what exactly it is you do, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m from Philadelphia and my job is that of property manager for Judge Madison.”

  “And what does a property manager do?”

  “Judge Madison doesn’t care much for travel. Whenever something needs close supervision on any of his out-of-town properties, I act as his on-site representative and handle whatever needs attention.”

  “That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Judge Madison must have a great deal of faith in you.”

  He shrugged.

  Definitely a man of few words. Moving on... “And your family? Are you married?”

  “No.”

  Ignoring the little spurt of pleasure that gave her, she pressed on. “Parents? Siblings?”

  “Deceased.” His response was chopped and his tone warned against further probing.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Was that why he seemed so closed off? She couldn’t imagine being entirely on her own. Even when she’d spent those long, lonely years in boarding school, she’d known Everett was out there and would come running should she need him. And she’d had holidays to look forward to, when the two of them could spend precious time together.

  How long had he been on his own? “That must—”

  But he cut her off, brushing aside her sympathy. “I lost them a long time ago. I’m used to being on my own.”

  As if that would make it any easier to bear. But she took the hint. “Well then, can you tell me how long you’ve worked for Judge Madison?”
/>   “Going on eleven years now.”

  “And do you have any hobbies?” she asked, desperate to get some kind of personal insight. “Something you enjoy doing when you’re not working?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for hobbies. The judge keeps me busy. And that’s how I like it.”

  The man was impossible! How could she get him to open up and give her more than these terse, uninformative answers?

  Before she could ask anything else, Della returned with their food. Abigail set aside her pencil and notebook while the meal was placed before them. She wasn’t getting much to work with anyway. This was going to be a very dry article unless she injected more life into it herself with personal observations.

  Of course, he had to actually do something for her to observe before even that much was possible.

  * * *

  Seth had never liked talking about himself, so as soon as the waitress departed, he took the offensive. “I believe it’s my turn to ask you a few questions.”

  His words brought a pleased light to her eyes. Apparently, unlike him, she did like talking about herself.

  “Of course,” she said, lifting her fork. “My parents are no longer around, but I have an older brother who’s married with two children.” She smiled. “I’ve already mentioned that Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs a restaurant.” She touched the pencil on the table. “And Everett owns and operates the town newspaper. I work with both of them from time to time.”

  Interesting, but not the information he’d been after. “You said you and Judge Madison have been corresponding for a number of years. What initiated the correspondence?”

  “That’s a fun story. He did an amazing kindness for my brother several years ago and I wrote to thank him. It continued from there. We discovered that we had similar tastes in literature and in food. He introduced me to Cervantes, and I introduced him to the joys of apple-pecan pie.”

  Interesting. What amazing kindness had Judge Madison done for her brother? But she didn’t elaborate further so he moved to something else. “Do you have any experience doing the sort of work the judge is asking of you?”

  “Not actual hands-on experience.” She said that lightly, as if it was inconsequential. “But I’ve studied as much as I could find and it sounds like fun. I don’t imagine it will be terribly difficult.”

  He found her offhand manner irritating. Then he remembered the judge’s cryptic mention of allowing her to “earn the means to achieve one of her dreams.” “What will you gain from doing this?”

  She frowned—was it at his question or his tone? Had she picked up on his irritation? She might be more perceptive than he’d given her credit for.

  “You mean, besides repaying a friend?” Her tone said that should be enough.

  Then she smiled, her mood seeming to change with dizzying speed. “I run a small subscription library that’s currently housed in Daisy’s restaurant. Judge Madison offered me a ground-floor room here in the hotel to house it.”

  Yet another thing his employer had failed to mention to him. “So we’ll need to account for that when we address the ground floor.”

  She nodded. “I’ve already looked around and found the perfect place.”

  Of course she had, but he wouldn’t be ready to discuss that until he had a chance to evaluate things himself. “We’ll certainly look at all the options when the time is right. We want to make certain the location benefits all parties.”

  She studied him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Of course.”

  They both focused on their meals after that, eating in silence for several minutes. At first he found the respite from her chatter soothing, but after a while the silence began to feel oddly oppressive.

  Finally, he spoke up. “Tell me about this library of yours.”

  Her face lit up again. “It’s a subscription library that I started about five years ago with just the books my brother and I owned.

  “Over the years I’ve taken the money I earned through the subscriptions and purchased new titles to add to it,” she continued. “And from time to time Judge Madison sends me some of his books as well.”

  She gave a sharing-an-insight smile. “He always says he’s just getting rid of some of his older books to make room for new ones, but I suspect he’s just being generous.”

  Seth suspected she was right. The judge obviously had a soft spot for Miss Fulton. But he’d noticed the man often enjoyed championing lost causes.

  She waved her fork, obviously unable to keep her hands still while she talked. “Anyway, it’s not as large as the libraries you’d find in big cities, but now I’ll have the space to expand it the way I want to.”

  What did she know of big-city libraries? “A worthy goal. And I suppose having the library here in the hotel could be viewed as a bonus for our guests.”

  She beamed at him. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. What a wonderful idea. I could even waive my subscription fee for guests, at least for their first book.”

  Being the focus of that wide-eyed, admiring smile took him aback. He wasn’t used to such attention. Scrambling to get his thoughts back under control, Seth brought the discussion back around to the job ahead of them. “The food here seems passable, but not memorable.”

  Miss Fulton grimaced agreement. “It was better when Norma ran the kitchen. But Della is trying. With some direction, and help with menu planning, she could be an excellent cook.”

  “You said you’ve worked in your sister-in-law’s restaurant. Do you feel qualified to help in that arena?” Having the chatty Miss Fulton in charge of the kitchen might keep her busy enough to stay out of his way.

  “Of course.” She pointed her fork at him. “In fact, I’ve already been thinking about this.” She leaned forward, her expression warming with enthusiasm. “Since we have so few guests while we’re under construction, it makes sense to get their food orders the day before and then we can plan all meals first thing in the morning. It will make the best use of Della’s time and our money.”

  That was a surprisingly good plan. “Doesn’t the hotel dining room get outside customers?”

  “Occasionally. I thought of that, too. One of our offerings could be a soup or stew, which can be easily stretched to serve additional people.”

  The woman continued to surprise him. Perhaps there was more to her than he’d first thought.

  She lowered her fork. “But we have a more pressing staffing issue. Did Mr. Crandall tell you he’s leaving tomorrow?”

  So she knew about that. “Yes. And that’s a key position that needs to be filled immediately, at least on a temporary basis.” He would let his future hotel manager take care of hiring key positions like the permanent desk clerk.

  “But don’t worry,” he assured her, “I can handle the job for a day or two. That should give me time to interview candidates and make certain I get the right person for the job.” Though it would delay his efforts to inspect the property in the detail he needed to.

  “We.”

  Her tone and expression were equally determined.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  She met his gaze without flinching. “We will interview candidates. Judge Madison asked us to handle the staffing together, remember?”

  What did this barely-out-of-the-schoolroom miss know about interviewing job candidates? “Of course. I’m sure your insights will be most helpful.” But he planned to establish from the outset that the final decisions would be his. His whole future rested on him ultimately hiring Bartholomew Michelson as the hotel manager.

  Miss Fulton’s face took on a suspiciously casual expression. “You know, you’re going to be quite busy familiarizing yourself with the hotel and town for the next few days. Rather than you also assuming the manager duties, perhaps I could handle that piece for now.”
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br />   He sensed there was more going on here than her being helpful. “You misunderstand. The position we’ll be hiring for is desk clerk. I’ll assume the role of hotel manager myself while the construction is ongoing, and fill it permanently once we’re closer to the completion date.”

  “I see.” She frowned, then seemed to rally. “Then, since we are sharing the responsibilities for the renovation, I think we should also share the responsibilities of the hotel-manager position.”

  Why ever would she want such a responsibility? Did she think it would give her some sort of prestige? “That’s a generous offer but I think I should take care of this myself.”

  She stiffened. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle the job?”

  “Do you have any experience in doing so?”

  “I studied the work Mr. Crandall did, and even relieved him on occasion at the front desk when he had to tend to Norma.”

  “It was inappropriate for Mr. Crandall to leave you in charge when you’re not employed here.”

  “But I am employed here. Did you forget already?”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s for an altogether different function. I’m sure Judge Madison intended to have you work in a more behind-the-scenes capacity—certainly not to do actual hotel work.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up. “Judge Madison didn’t tell you any such thing. And this partnership between us will only work if we respect each other.”

  He tried a different approach. “To be blunt, you admit to having very little experience. And being hotel manager involves much more than working the front desk. In fact, in many larger establishments, the manager never works the front desk. And if I have to train you on those finer points, I might as well do the job myself.”

  “But this is the perfect time for me to learn. There are only three rooms occupied and the staff has been reduced to one maid, one cook and the night clerk. So supervision won’t be as demanding.”