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“That’s not what I meant.” Mitch sighed and smiled at Ella, gesturing from his daughter to Penny. “Take notes. This is your future.” He turned to Shane. “If Harlan Monroe didn’t tell his family why he bought the town, you can assume he didn’t tell us, either.” He consulted a map of the inn. “Let’s put Laurel in the Meadow Room.”
“Mom.” Penny tugged at Ella’s leg with both hands. Her cheeks were flushed. “Want cookie.” She coughed.
Was that a productive cough? Or just an I-need-to-blow-my-nose cough? Ella dug in the diaper bag for a tissue and a small snack bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.
“In case you need anything to wash that cookie down with, there’s a kitchenette around the corner with a small fridge, a microwave and a sink,” Mitch said, using the interruption to gloss over Shane’s dig for information. “Help yourself to coffee or water.”
“I can store things in the refrigerator?” Ella thought about cheese sticks, milk and yogurt. “Is there a freezer?” For ice cream.
“No, sorry.” Mitch seemed genuinely apologetic.
“This is really fine work.” Laurel fingered the blue-and-brown quilt on the couch. “Who made this?”
“Odette.” Gabby bounded from behind the desk to the living room. “She’s super old.”
“Gabby.”
“That’s what she says,” Gabby countered, defending herself with a put-upon huff. “She lives down the road. She tried to teach me how to knit and sew, but I’m kind of a lost cause.”
“Meaning the knitting needles weren’t as interesting as a video game,” Mitch murmured half under his breath.
“I was just a kid when she tried to teach me before,” Gabby said. “Are you really Ashley Monroe’s twin? You look just like her.”
Laurel nodded, smiling weakly as if her stomach was still upset. It was a burden to look exactly like her famous sister.
“You were eleven when she tried to teach you,” Mitch said. “And you’re still a kid.”
“Dad. Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Gabby executed a disparaging eye roll to the ceiling before her glance landed on Laurel’s nearby feet. “I love your boots.”
“I got them at a vintage store in Hollywood.” Laurel traced the quilt pattern with her finger. “I’d love to meet Odette.”
Sophie was standing near the collection of items hanging on the inn’s wall—an old ice pick, a washboard, a bed warmer.
“Odette’s not much for strangers,” Mitch cautioned. “Took her months to warm up to Noah.”
Noah didn’t look like a doctor. He looked like he’d been in the mountains for too long and had just come down for a cup of coffee for the first time in months.
“Is Noah new to town?” Ella asked casually, pouring a little water into a small plastic cup in the kitchenette.
“Noah came to us months ago when we needed a new doctor.” Mitch answered Ella’s question, but he was still having a who-will-blink-first face-off with Shane. “Second Chance is the county seat. We have the only doctor and homeschooling coordinator for a hundred miles.”
“What happened to the old doctor?” Shane asked.
“Doc Carter?” Mitch’s expression turned grim. “She died.”
“This bed warmer is from Europe.” Sophie adjusted her glasses and peered at the back of the piece hanging from the wall. “Antique and highly valuable.”
“It was here when I bought the place eleven years ago,” Mitch said, not sounding impressed. “And before you question me about what your grandfather bought, he paid for the land and the structures in town, not anything inside where people were still living. So, if the bed warmer is worth anything and you want it, you can make me an offer.”
“That answers the question about why you sold this place to my grandfather.” Shane pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket. “Money.”
“Shane,” Sophie chastised.
Ella wanted to second Sophie’s reprimand, but she wasn’t sure it would be well-received now that her place in the family seemed to be in doubt.
“What about properties where people weren’t living?” Laurel looked thoughtful. “And where businesses had gone under? There are a couple of vacant-looking buildings around here.”
There were more than a couple.
“If it’s vacant or the business went under, everything in it is yours.” Mitch didn’t seem happy to admit that. “Next.” He waved Sophie to the desk.
His daughter glanced from her father to Shane, but said nothing.
After everyone was checked in, Laurel watched the kids while Shane, Sophie and Ella unloaded the luggage from the Hummer. It wasn’t yet dinnertime, but the sky was darkening and the temperature was dropping noticeably.
“Be careful what you say to Mitch,” Shane cautioned when they were outside. “I don’t trust him.”
“Is that your testosterone talking, brother dear?” Sophie slung cartoon-decorated backpacks over each shoulder.
“That’s my business-sense talking, sister dear.” Shane scowled, an expression that might have been amplified by the sudden gust of biting wind.
“He’s defending his territory.” Ella wrestled Laurel’s huge, heavy suitcase to the ground, narrowly missing her toes. Laurel had also brought a large garment bag full to the seams. Wow. Did all costume designers pack for every contingency? “People get uncomfortable when there’s uncertainty about their home.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Shane’s scowl deepened. “Remember you’re a Monroe, Ella.”
Sure, she thought, for now. But these past few days, she hadn’t been proud of it.
CHAPTER THREE (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
NOAH TRUDGED THROUGH the deepening snow to his cabin carrying a bag of dog food.
The limping dog trailed behind him.
A dog. One everyone thought was cute. And no one else would take him? Because he was lame?
It figured.
Noah was reminded of his father’s history of perfection. Every event in Noah’s life that fell short of his standards was met with a pronouncement of the man’s greatness.
You came in fourth in the relay race? My friends and I were state champs.
That’s your SAT math score? My math mark was seventy points higher than that on my first try.
His father had the highest expectations. He’d have taken one look at the laboring dog and contacted the closest animal-rescue facility.
The joke’s on you, Dad.
The truth was, the dog wouldn’t go with anyone else.
Darn dog didn’t know he’d made the wrong choice.
“Don’t expect much,” Noah told the dog when he reached the porch, because he’d been trained to have a polite bedside manner, even when he was in a foul mood.
The dog paused on the top step, panting. Snow clung to his shaggy golden hair as if it had been professionally frosted. His dark brown eyes, which peeked out from beneath overgrown bangs, were filled with things Noah didn’t want—love and trust. With those eyes, he was exactly the kind of dog that should appeal to someone like Ella.
“And don’t think this is permanent.” Noah gave the canine a stern look. “It’s just until you’re back on your feet.” He sighed, put his key in the lock and opened the door. “And now I’m talking to a dog.” Which, on second thought, might be an improvement. He’d been talking to himself since he’d gotten here.
He hurried inside, closed the door quickly behind them and just as hastily hung up his outerwear on hooks—knit cap, scarf, jacket. The dog sat at his feet, leg thrust out at an awkward angle.
“Did you forget we had an appointment, Doc?”
Noah jumped in the midst of removing his gloves. He quickly tugged them back in place and turned toward the corner, where the exam room was located. “I thought I locked the door.”
“You did.” A wiry old woman wearing a yellow knit cap over her coarse gray hair sat on the exam-room table, partially hidden by a privacy screen. “I know where the spare key is.”
Why don’t I know where the spare key is?
Noah’s pulse rate peaked, then began its descent into normal. Thankfully, the important stuff—the medicines and equipment—was locked in cabinets. He doubted there was a spare key to those, but he made a mental note to ask Mitch about keys regardless. “Odette, you don’t have an appointment today.” Or any day, for that matter.
The dog hobbled over and sniffed Odette’s feet, which were covered in red-and-blue hand-knit socks.
Odette patted the dog on the head. “Doc, dying patients need daily appointments.”
“You’re not dying.” She was just old and in need of some company. “Go back to your arts and crafts.”
She harrumphed, and then muttered, “Arts and crafts,” as if he’d referred to her quilting and knitting in a derogatory manner.
Which in hindsight, he might have. Her continued presence was getting on his nerves. His neighbor came by so often, she didn’t comment on his gloves anymore.
The dog sat at the base of the table and wagged his tail, more than willing to accept a visitor. Why couldn’t Noah have rescued a territorial guard dog?
“Doc Carter knew I was dying.” Odette huffed, thin shoulders slumping. “She was nice to me.”
Noah stalked over to the exam area, and grabbed the blood-pressure cuff and his stethoscope.
The canine panted and wagged his fluffy tail as if to say, You have to be nice to her, too, because she’s old and alone.
He scowled at the dog. “I’m paid to keep Second Chance residents healthy. Kindness is extra.”
The dog stopped panting, closed his mouth and stared at Noah in disbelief.
Noah shrugged and said to the dog, “Don’t look at me like that. Kindness never healed anybody.”
“Aha!” Odette fairly crowed with satisfaction. “You agree I’m down to my last days.”
“No. I was...” Talking to a dog because the isolation of Second Chance is getting to me?
That admission wouldn’t go over well. He wrapped the cuff around Odette’s arm with difficulty, relying on his left hand to pull it snug. He had to hand-pump the unit, because every piece of medical equipment in the cabin was at least ten years old and behind in technological advances. He still had to use an oral thermometer to take a patient’s temperature!
Odette went rigid, held her breath and leaned away from the cuff. “My brother always told me getting old was a chore.”
“Don’t tense up or we’ll have to do this again.”
“I’ll just look at your therapy dog.” Staring down, Odette visibly relaxed.
Noah felt her forehead—not hot—then relieved the pressure on the valve and watched the gauge fall.
“He has such sweet eyes. What’s his name?”
“Dog.” Noah removed the armband and picked up his stethoscope, instructing her to breathe deeply as he listened to her lungs. He checked her skin for elasticity. “Your blood pressure is normal. Your lungs are clear. You’re hydrated.” He retrieved her file from a drawer and dutifully logged the date, her numbers and his assessment—normal. Why did she insist she was on death’s door? “Are you having hurtful thoughts? Are you depressed? Is it hard to get up in the morning?”
“No, no and no.”
“Odette.” He gave the old woman his most serious expression, the one he used to use when he told sports stars they had to agree to an intense postsurgery therapy regime if they wanted him to operate. “I think you’ll live another day.”
Odette fell back on the exam table as if this was the worst news ever. “How can you say that?”
“Because you have no history of any disease and you walked over here through two feet of snow, not to mention you ascended an incline.” His was the highest cabin on this stretch of road. “If you were dying, the dog would’ve found you buried in a drift, not in here.” He took hold of Odette’s shoulder and raised her to a sitting position. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve got a project or two waiting for you at home.”
“I do.” She perked up, a smile revealing layers of wrinkles on her face. “I’m tackling homemaker quilt blocks today. Eight points plus four Y-seams. It’s very challenging.” She slid off the end of the table and walked to the bench where she’d left her snow boots and jacket, pausing to look out the big plate glass window to the buildings on the river side of the road. “There are visitors at the inn.”
“Yes.” He got out a towel and dried the dog off, taking his time before saying more. “The Monroes have arrived. Four of them. In a Hummer.”
“Roy will be happy.” Odette looked far from happy. “What are they like?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself? I’m busy.” He picked up the paperback thriller he’d been reading for the last two months, sat down in his living room recliner and then glanced back at the dog.
As if released from the “stay” command, the shaggy beast came over and sat next to him, putting his muzzle on the arm of the chair and staring up at Noah with worshipful, big brown eyes.
There’s nothing left to worship here, big fella.
“You aren’t busy. You’re going to hold that book and then stare out at the valley like you and Roy do every day.” Because there were big picture windows in the north and east corners of the cabin, Odette had an unobstructed view of Noah’s front room from her small cabin to the north, as well as Roy’s, which was about fifty feet south of Noah’s. “Tell me about the Monroes.”
“If you’re curious, you know where to get your answers.” He extended the footrest on his recliner. “Or you can use those binoculars of yours.”
The dog inched closer, put a paw on Noah’s arm and kept moving forward, as if he’d inch his way right into Noah’s lap.
“Don’t even think about it.” Noah blocked him with an elbow.
“I can’t go down there with all those strangers.” Odette paced with sturdy, healthy steps.
“Don’t be such a drama queen. They’re checking into the inn. Go ask Ivy or Roy their impressions if you don’t want to see them.”
“You’re impossible. You and that dog. You’ll both be happy just staring out the window while this old lady withers in front of your very eyes.” Odette put on her jacket and her snow boots with vigor and then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.
Snow was beginning to fall. Noah watched Odette walk along the path she created to his cabin every day. She turned on her porch, made a rude gesture at him and then disappeared inside her home.
Then it was just Noah, the dog, the book whose plot he couldn’t remember and silence. It was in the daily silence of Second Chance that Noah missed practicing orthopedics, missed solving the puzzle of a body’s injury, missed the satisfaction of seeing patients hobble in and walk out months later.
