by Rachel Hanna
“No one greeted me when I came in.”
She gritted her teeth. “We don’t exactly have the budget for front desk staff, Patrick.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, if you’ll follow me. This is the powder room. Here’s the storage closet where we keep extra yoga mats, blocks and so forth…”
“Blocks?”
“Have you never done yoga?”
He laughed as if it was a ridiculous question. “No.”
She cocked her head and smiled slightly. “You should try it sometime. Might help you.”
He squinted his eyes a bit, as if he wanted to prod further about what she meant, but he didn’t. She was glad because right now she just wanted to finish up and go take something for the splitting headache she was getting.
“This hallway leads to our kitchen,” she said as she opening the swinging door. “We buy pre-made meals mostly. I used to have a part-time chef, but that was the first cut I made when money became an issue.”
He looked around the kitchen, occasionally touching the countertops or one of the appliances. “Not bad.”
“Thanks for the ringing endorsement. I designed it myself.”
“Oh.”
Jill rolled her eyes as she turned and led them out of the kitchen. They went through another door onto the covered screened porch. It was almost as big as the bottom floor of the house all by itself.
“I opted for this big outdoor space rather than a formal living room inside. As you can see, we have the corner fireplace and these shutters can be locked tight over the screens to keep it warm during the cold winter months.”
“I’m not much on the outdoors.”
“Shocking,” she said under her breath. “Have you ever even camped out?”
His face tightened inexplicably. “When I was a kid. I wasn’t a fan.”
“Oh. Well, I guess it all depends on who you’re with.”
“I guess,” he said so softly that she almost didn’t hear it.
“Ready to see the upstairs?”
“Sure.”
He followed her upstairs as she gave the most bland tour she’d ever given. The last thing she wanted was for this guy to be excited about buying the place. On the other hand, if he did buy it, she wanted him to keep the building. It was her home. She’d literally breathed life into it herself. All those years of sketching the perfect home and business… and it could be gone in a few weeks.
When they’d finished the tour, they stood in the foyer again.
“It’s getting a bit dark, so I guess you can show me the grounds tomorrow morning?”
“The grounds? Do you really need me for that, Patrick?”
“It would be preferable.”
“Fine.”
“Now, where is the closest hotel around here?”
Jill laughed out loud. “Hotel?”
“I need a place to stay for the night.”
“Well, my dear, you’re out of luck in these parts. We’re the only game in town.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Then how can you be failing?”
She pursed her lips and sucked a sharp breath through her nose. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re the only hotel…”
“This isn’t a hotel! This is a retreat. A place that people come to de-stress, learn meditation, get away from life…”
“Oh, right. Well, maybe you should’ve tried the hotel idea?”
She rolled her eyes again. This guy was going to cause her eyes to get permanently stuck to the back of her skull.
“No one comes up here to stay, Patrick. They need an attraction. Something to draw them in.”
“Like the resort and conference center I’m building?”
He had a point, but she sure wasn’t telling him that. “Look, the closest place to stay is Mae’s Motor Lodge down on the main road. It’s about ten miles out behind the school bus graveyard. Rooms start at thirty for the night.”
She turned and headed toward the stairs. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A motor lodge? What even is that? And a school bus graveyard?”
“Are you saying you’re too good for that?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Wow.”
“How much for a room here tonight?”
“I don’t rent rooms, Patrick.”
“Five hundred?”
“My clients pay to stay here for a week or more. They get much more than a room…”
“Seven fifty?”
“I’m not a hotel…”
“One thousand?”
She was struggling now. That would pay her utilities this month. “Fine. Okay. But one night, and you’re gone after our tour tomorrow?”
“I have no interest in being here any longer than I have to.” He pulled out his wallet and counted out one thousand dollars. Jill was dumbfounded. How rich was this guy that he had so much money in his wallet? Maybe he was a white collar criminal or something.
“Good.” She walked over to the table that had the log book on it, leafed through it and then pulled a key from the drawer. “Room three. It’s down on the left, across from the bathroom.”
“I don’t have my own bathroom?”
“We share things here, Patrick.”
“Good Lord.”
He hesitantly took the key. “Dinner’s at seven in the dining room. No dressy attire.”
“All I have is dressy attire.”
“Well, at least remove the jacket and tie. It makes everyone stressed to see those restrictive clothes.”
“I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone,” he mumbled as he approached the stairs.
“Oh, and if you need a shower, better get in there before Ingrid. She’s the lady with the red hair. She loves long showers, and you won’t have a bit of hot water if she beats you to it.”
He stared at her for a moment and then slowly walked up the stairs like he was heading to the electric chair.
Patrick stood in the middle of the room and looked around. It was as if the outdoors had seeped in through the windows with the log walls and rustic furniture. Why would anyone want this? What happened to high end linens and sleek, modern furnishings?
He dropped his leather bag, the one he’d bought in an Italian boutique, and sighed. This was going to be a long night. No way was he sleeping here longer than that.
He walked to the window, his expensive French dress shoes making a knocking noise on the solid oak floors. The land was much how he remembered it. Rolling hills mixed with towering blue tinged mountains. Darkness followed by light followed by more darkness. Much like his life.
He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Pressing the buttons with more force than was needed, he called Jim at the bank.
“Jim here.”
“Jim? It’s Patrick.” His voice was harsh and sharp.
“Uh oh. You don’t sound happy. Not that you ever really do.”
“Why have you sent me to this Godforsaken place?”
Jim chuckled. “Because you want that property, don’t you?”
“Not bad enough to spend a night here. I feel like I’m standing in a tree house.”
“Not a fan of the great outdoors?”
“No.”
“Well, think about what a great deal you’re going to get when we finally finish up the foreclosure on that place. It’s a steal, man. Just tough it out, and you’ll be happy you did.”
“Doubtful.”
“Have a good night,” Jim said, amusement in his voice.
Patrick took in a deep breath. He was getting hungry, and there were no other viable options for dinner unless he wanted to snag himself a wild boar or something. And since he was fresh out of ammo, he was going to have to venture back downstairs soon.
Seeing her again had been harder than he imagined. She was still so beautiful, her eyes shining like pools of clear blue ocean. But they were pained. Stressed. Older. Wiser.
He hated th
is part of himself. The part where his heart started to open and make him think - and possibly do - stupid things. Patrick didn’t trust anyone, and that had served him well all these years. As much as he wanted to save her a second time, he wasn’t going to do it. This was business, plain and simple.
“Knock knock,” he heard her say from the other side of the door.
He opened it to find her standing there with two fresh towels folded in her arms. “Why didn’t you actually knock instead of saying it?”
“Why do you overthink everything?” she retorted.
She handed him the towels and started to walk away, but she turned back and looked at him.
“What?”
“I feel like I’ve met you before.”
Patrick froze in place under her gaze. The last thing he needed was for her to know who he was and then try to guilt him into saving her place. Not happening.
“Nope. We’ve never met.”
She stared for a moment longer. “Weird. Well, anyway, dinner’s in half an hour.”
“What are we having?”
“Country fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. Oh, and peach cobbler for dessert.”
“That doesn’t sound very healthy.”
“People come here for comfort, and I give it to them.”
“Great. Sounds like a wonderful night for a heart attack,” he said, shutting his door.
This guy was infuriating. And challenging. And sexy. And rich. And familiar.
Jill stood around the corner from his room and leaned against the log wall. What was it about him? Was it that she’d been alone for so long? Was it that she was always attracted to the wrong men? Or did she really know him from somewhere?
She wracked her brain. Had he been here before? Definitely not. Maybe she’d seen him in town? No, it wasn’t that either. Yet, when she looked at his face, she felt a stirring. She knew him, and she didn’t know why. And she felt drawn to him in a weird way, which was pretty disconcerting given that she wanted to smack him across the face for stealing her property out from under her.
“Hey there, Jill!” an older woman said as she left her room.
“Oh, hi, Alice. Have a nice nap?”
“Oh yes. I always sleep so great here.”
“Me too. See you at dinner?”
“Of course! Can’t wait for that cobbler!”
Jill walked down the stairs. The Retreat had started out as just a glimmer of a dream in her mind all those years ago. A place where people could recharge, hide from regular life for awhile and learn new skills to manage stress.
But what was she to do for her own stress?
She walked into the kitchen and started preparing plates for her few guests. Since Kaylee was gone, everything was on her now. She was the chef, the yoga teacher and the chief bottle washer. More stress. Great.
Thankfully - or not - this week was a slow one. Kids were going back to school, and parents weren’t able to get away for a quick trip. So the only people staying with her right now were Ingrid, Alice and Winston.
These three people had been loyal to her over the years. Alice was in her seventies and had been a yoga teacher in her twenties. A lifelong vegan, she liked to come to The Retreat to get away from the stresses of life.
Ingrid was a fifty-something redhead with a fiery temper in her regular life, and that made for a lot of health issues including anxiety. She came to The Retreat once or twice a year to calm herself and reconnect.
And then there was Winston. He was in his eighties, and this area had been his home as a child. When he’d first come there, he was angry at the new development. But, over time, Winston had become like a grandfather to her. And he wanted to save The Retreat, but he didn’t have a lot of money either. So he did what he could by paying to stay there a few times a year for a few days at a time, even though he was probably the least stressed person she knew.
She was thankful for these people who believed in her and The Retreat. It was their home away from home too, and she felt such a responsibility to save it. But how? She didn’t have the money or resources to catch her payments up at this point. And it was clear the bank wanted to sell to Mr. Moneybags upstairs.
The guy seemed to be emotionless, so trying to tug at his heart strings wasn’t going to work. She just felt trapped in an endless cycle of struggle. Much of her life had been this way. From being basically abandoned by her mother to working her butt off for years just to live her dream, nothing came easy for Jill.
For just one day, she wished things were easy. Simple. Peaceful.
“Need any help?” Ingrid asked from the doorway of the kitchen. Her hair was redder than the day before, obviously the result of a night of hair dye boxes littering the communal bathroom.
“No, but thanks. I’ve got it.”
“You know, my guru taught me that it’s okay to ask for help sometimes,” she said with a sad smile.
“Your guru?”
“You, silly.”
Jill laughed. “Oh, sweetie, I’m no guru.” She turned and went back to stirring the sweet tea, the mound of wet sugar at the bottom of the pitcher feeling like concrete.
Ingrid walked over and hugged her from behind, her signature move. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
“You’re like a walking motivational poster,” Jill said with a chuckle.
“I’m worried about you, hon. You’re so tense these days, and that just ain’t like you.”
Jill turned to her, struggling not to let the tears fall. One escaped anyway, like a wet little inmate running for freedom. “I’ll be okay.”
“Can I do anything at all, Jill? Anything?”
She thought for a moment and then handed her a pile of white plates. “You can set the table.”
Ingrid grinned. “I’m on it, boss!”
Yes, Jill was so thankful for these amazing people. What was she going to do without them?
“Dinner’s ready!” Jill called as she walked into the dining room with a huge bowl of mashed potatoes. Ingrid followed with the country fried steak and gravy bowl, which was ironic considering she was vegan. But Jill always made sure she had a nice big salad and a side of roasted potatoes to enjoy with everyone else.
Everyone was seated, except for Patrick, of course. He probably wasn’t coming anyway.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a conference call that went over,” he said as he walked into the room. He was still wearing his slacks and dress shoes, but he’d changed into a blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, with the sleeves rolled up slightly. She assumed he was at least attempting to look more casual.
“No problem. Have a seat,” Jill said, pointing to a chair across from where she’d be sitting. Winston eyed him closely, almost as if he knew who Patrick was.
“So, I see we have a newcomer. You been here before?” Winston asked, one of his bushy eyebrows raised.
Patrick cleared his throat. “No, sir. First time.”
“You don’t look like the type to come here.”
Patrick cocked his head slightly. “There’s a type?”
Jill tried not to laugh. It was nice to see Patrick uncomfortable for a bit, although it didn’t make her the best host. Of course, she didn’t invite him into her world in the first place.
“Where you from?”
“Atlanta.”
“Figures,” Winston said under his breath. Patrick looked at Jill for help, but she just smiled and scooped out a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
“How’s the meditating going, Ingrid?”
“Oh, fine, I guess. I still can’t clear my mind lately. I feel like I have that ADD thing.”
Jill passed the dish of potatoes over to Patrick. He shook his head.
“You don’t want potatoes?”
“Those are pretty high in carbs. I like to stay under…”
“Oh, good Lord, man, eat some potatoes!” Winston said, grumbling under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“You young kids t
hese days… worrying about carbs… just eat the food. Live a nice life. Stop worrying about all that ridiculousness.”
Patrick smiled without making eye contact at Winston. Something about his smile gave Jill butterflies in her stomach. It looked good on him. Shame he didn’t show it more often.
“Okay. I’ll have a scoop,” Patrick said, putting a small pile on his plate beside his steak.
Everyone started eating, but it was quieter than normal. Usually, there was boisterous conversation going on, and it helped distract Jill from her problems for awhile. But it was obvious everyone was wondering what Patrick was doing there.
“So, you all know that The Retreat is in trouble. I’ve been pretty honest about that. Mr. Scott is an investor. He’s buying up a lot of the land around here to build a conference center and resort, and he wants this property…”
“I need this property.”
“What?” Jill asked.
“I can’t build my project without this piece. The logistics won’t work.” He stared down at his plate, jaw tightened.
“Oh. I wasn’t aware you had to have my property,” Jill said. She vaguely remembered the guy at the bank saying her property was in the middle of a proposed resort.
“Does it matter?” he asked, glancing at her.
“It does to me.”
“You can’t have this place,” Alice said softly. “It’s important to a lot of people.”
“Look, I’m really sorry. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m just a business man trying to…”
“Make a buck,” Winston said, his voice gruff as he pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his arms.
“That’s what business people do, sir.”
“Not all of them. I ran a successful business for forty years, Mr. Scott, and I never found the need to hurt others.” The old man glared at Patrick.
“Why don’t we just enjoy our dinner?” Jill said, trying to change the subject.
“The reality is that Jill is about to lose this place. It’s going back to the bank. Wouldn’t it be smarter if someone like myself bought it and rolled it into another project that would better this whole area?”
Winston’s eyebrows furrowed together. “This area doesn’t need to be better. It’s perfect the way it is.”
