A Brand New Ending (Page 8)

It was going to get worse once she heard the news.

He’d been here almost a week already, and she refused to engage with him. The flowers he’d sent were met by a cool “thank you” and a closed door. His phone calls went unanswered.

How was he supposed to move forward with his work and their relationship when she wouldn’t even talk to him?

Maybe he needed to woo her a bit. Try to convince her his presence wouldn’t threaten her routine. Showing up on her doorstep and announcing he needed to stay for three months to write probably wasn’t the best first move.

Decision made, he grabbed his coat and walked up toward the inn. He’d ask her out for lunch, or coffee. He’d be charming and apologize for his intrusion. He’d beg her to give him a few moments to talk.

Ophelia might have a feisty temper, but she also had a soft heart.

It was hard for him to imagine her turning away from a good grovel.

His shoes crunched over the snow, and he breathed in the sharp, clean air.

God, it felt good to be home.

His gaze swept over the thick woods and curving path that led to the horse barns and open meadow. Growing up around horses and farming had taught him to appreciate not only the beauty of nature but also the simple pleasures he’d forgotten in California. The satisfaction of cooking meals with fresh vegetables from the garden and eggs gathered from the chickens. The sense of freedom you get from galloping on a horse as the flash of green grass whipped underfoot. The pride of strained muscles and sweat-soaked skin after a hard day’s work that was measured not by a pile of papers or a successful negotiation but hands-on effort. He’d run away from it all for the lure of something greater.

Funny. Now he wondered if he’d had the true prize all along.

Pushing the disturbing thought away, he climbed the porch steps and rang the bell. Squared his shoulders. Recited his speech in his mind.

It all went to hell once she opened the door.

“What do you want?” she asked with a fierce frown, lips pursed as if she’d tasted something bad. But the intimidating effect was completely ruined by the series of racking coughs that came right after. She covered her mouth with her arm. When she managed to lift her head again and try to glare at him, he caught the glassy look in her blue eyes and the stark paleness of her skin.

“You’re sick,” he said, immediately stepping past her and shutting the door behind him. He laid his hand on her forehead before she could jerk away. “And you have a fever.”

“I’m fine. I took some cold meds.”

He studied the slight shaking of her shoulders under the thick cardigan wrapped around her. “Baby, you may have the flu. You have to get to bed.” The familiar endearment spilled from his lips before he could think.

“Don’t call me that.” But her voice came out weak, and was followed by another series of coughs. “I can rest later. I have a full house today and a million things to do. There’s no time for me to be sick.” She spun around as if trying to show him she had everything under control, then wobbled, her hands grasping for the wall as she scrambled for balance.

He caught her before she tumbled, his heart stopping at the lack of color in her cheeks and the burn of her overheated skin. With a growl, he scooped her up into his arms and marched down the hallway. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“I don’t need—”

“Bedroom,” he commanded.

She gave a small humph and pointed to the last door on the right.

He walked in, quickly surveying the feminine space decorated in her favorite colors of powder blue and lemon yellow. It smelled of honey and lavender. He laid her down on the four-poster bed, ignoring her protests. “You can’t take care of guests with a fever,” he pointed out. “You’ll get them sick, plus spread germs everywhere. Is there someone I can call to help out?”

She blinked as if her vision were blurred, then shook her head. “No. I can get Aubrey to do the cleaning and laundry service, but usually Ethan or Mia or Harper would step in for the main functions like check-in, setting up guests’ schedules, or cooking breakfast.”

“Okay. I know Ethan and Mia are in the city. I’ll call Harper.”

“She’s not here, either,” she said. “She got an emergency call to pick up a rescue horse and won’t be back till tomorrow.” More coughs choked her throat. “It’s okay. I’ll put on a mask. Maybe Aubrey can pick up breakfast at the Market Food Pantry so I don’t have to cook. I can do this.”

Her effort to sit up was so pathetic, his heart squeezed. She’d always been a stubborn, determined creature about whatever task she put her mind to, refusing to admit defeat. It was another reason why he’d been so shocked when she gave up her dreams of singing to run away, bury herself again in the safe world they’d both worked so hard to escape. But that was a discussion for later.

Right now, she needed his help.

“You’re going to stay in bed and get better,” he said, tugging back the quilt and adjusting the pillow. “I’ve got this. I’ll take care of the guests and whatever else is needed.”

Shock widened her eyes. “What? You can’t run an inn. I’m expecting a group of ten skiers today, and I already have two couples staying here. You’d need to do check-ins, make dinner reservations, cook breakfast, put out afternoon snacks, do turn-down service . . . No, you can’t. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, and I can handle it.” She was so weak, he was able to easily shift her under the blankets and tug them over her. “If you allow yourself to burn off the fever and get some sleep, you’ll probably be back in full force tomorrow. I grew up watching your mother, remember? The tasks are simple enough as long as I’m organized. I can handle it.”

She snorted. “You have no clue,” she muttered under her breath. “Mom made it look easy.”

“Ophelia, if you don’t rest, you’re going to end up in the hospital. Can you afford to be out for a whole week?”

“No!”

“Then let me do this for you. Please.”

A glimmer of raw emotion flickered in her eyes, but she quickly broke her gaze and turned her head away in retreat.

After a few moments, she turned back, her tone all business. “In the top drawer, you’ll find a piece of paper with all the tasks for check-in listed. I have everything saved in Excel with the guest information, credit card numbers, assigned rooms, and personal preferences—including any food allergies. All restaurant and activity reservations should also be included. Tea and cookies go out in the main parlor at three p.m. It’s Amanda and Michael’s anniversary, so I ordered flowers and chocolate-covered strawberries to be delivered. You need to set up the dining room at five p.m. with a bottle of champagne and the crystal flutes. I’ve got some frozen scones prepared, so if you’re able to pair them with bacon and eggs in the morning, I think we can get away with a basic breakfast. Although it might be nice to have fresh fruit, and Michael specifically requested bagels, so you’ll need to pick that up from the Market at six a.m. Kyle?”

His head spun from the list of instructions, but he schooled his expression and nodded with confidence. “Yes?”

“I’m going to throw up now.”

He jumped into action. Guiding her quickly out of bed, he got her to the bathroom and held back her tangled hair as she got sick, even as she desperately tried to wave him off. By the time she was back in bed, he’d retrieved a glass of lemon water, another round of meds, and a cool washcloth. He placed a bucket by her side.