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  “It’s been a madhouse around here today,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of things.”

  “No thanks needed,” he said. “It’s my job.”

  She nodded. Clifton had never been one to accept compliments graciously.

  “Adam said you have something you need to discuss with me, but before we get to that, I thought you’d like to know that Harold Grader agreed to resubmit my application to the loan committee.”

  Clifton pursed his lips. “I’m sure you’re pleased.”

  Emma took a second to consider what she was going to say next. Like it or not, she and Clifton were stuck with each other. She had a moral obligation to honor her grandmother’s wishes, and at his age, he’d be hard-pressed to find another job. He knew more about the inn and the way it worked than she did, and they both knew it, but doing things the way they always had been—his way, in other words—was driving her out of business. If they were going to save the Spirit Inn, she and Clifton would have to work together.

  “I thought about what you said regarding the coffee bar,” she said, “and I think I have a solution. What if we put it where the store is now? We wouldn’t lose any square footage in the lobby that way, and the renovation costs would be minimal.”

  He shook his head.

  “We can’t eliminate the store. Our guests appreciate the convenience.”

  “Well, then, what if we kept the most-requested items behind the front desk and listed them in the room directories? When guests need something, they could buy it from one of the clerks.”

  Clifton’s nostrils flared. He probably found the thought of handling their most-requested items—toothbrushes, deodorant, and foot powder—unappetizing.

  Emma set down her right foot and started massaging the left one.

  “Of course,” she said, “it would mean more work for the front desk staff. I’d understand if you don’t think they could handle it.”

  It was a calculated move on her part. Clifton considered the front office his personal fiefdom, and any suggestion that his clerks might be unable to cope would have to be vigorously refuted.

  “Not an issue,” he said. “My staff is fully capable of doing whatever is required.”

  “Hmm, if you’re sure,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  Clifton narrowed his eyes, looking even more than ever like a silent movie villain. Poor man, Emma thought. With his carefully parted, brilliantined hair and pencil-thin mustache, he really did seem to be from another era. He wasn’t married, and as far as she knew he didn’t have any friends, either. What on earth did a guy like that do on his days off? Nothing outdoors, judging from his pasty-white skin. Of course, he never offered any information, and she never asked, either. Emma figured that as long as her employees showed up on time and did their jobs, they didn’t owe her an explanation for anything they did that wasn’t illegal. She’d had enough trouble in her own life to make her not want to go prying into the affairs of others.

  “Have you had a chance to ask about the missing restaurant supplies?” he said.

  “It’s on my to-do list,” she said. “I figured Jean-Paul had enough on his mind with the banquet tonight.”

  Clifton had been harping for months on the discrepancy between the amount of food being purchased by the chef and the number of diners he was serving, but Emma wasn’t convinced that the difference was great enough to risk upsetting the man. Jean-Paul was a talented chef, and he was willing to work for much less than he was worth. Even if he was wasting some of their staples, anyone she hired to replace him would cost her more than whatever she’d paid for them.

  He took a deep breath and gave her a pained look.

  “It’s not my decision, of course, but are you sure you’re not being naive with regards to Jean-Paul? With his history . . .”

  “He paid his debt to society, Cliff. Unless he does something to make me think he’s relapsed, that’s all I need to know.”

  The subject of Jean-Paul’s drug conviction was a sore point with Emma. Her mother’s struggles with drugs and alcohol had shown her how hard it was for ex-addicts to move back into the mainstream and how quickly they became dispirited when they felt that no one would give them a second chance. Jean-Paul had been sober for more than a year when she hired him, and his weekly drug tests proved that he was no longer using. In spite of Clifton’s doubts, when it came to drug abusers, she was anything but naive.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “there have been discrepancies.”

  Emma’s hands started shaking. She balled them into fists.

  “I don’t know why we’re losing money, but I do know that Jean-Paul isn’t the problem. Or at any rate,” she added, “he’s not the whole problem.”

  “I didn’t say he was.” Clifton seemed offended. “I merely suggested that we consider all possible explanations.”

  Emma’s anger vanished in a cloud of self-doubt, and with it the last of her energy. She nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “There are still plenty of places we can cut costs. Once the bank comes through with the money, we’ll be fine.”

  When Clifton had gone, Emma trudged back down to her cottage and collapsed on the sofa. She’d been feeling pretty good until their meeting. Now she felt weary to her bones. She looked around at the tidy, empty space and felt tears start to well up. I’ve been surrounded by people all day, she thought. So why do I feel so alone?

  Emma reached for a tissue and blew her nose. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself that question; the fact was, she’d felt lonely for most of her life. Her father had died when she was only three, too young to have formed more than a vague impression of a man with large hands and impossibly strong arms, and the rest of her childhood was spent pretty much on her own, her mother being too strung out most of the time to care. Summers with her grandmother had saved her from stumbling down the same path, but even that time was spent mostly in solitary pursuits: Running the inn didn’t leave Gran much time to do stuff that kids enjoyed. Once in a while a family with kids would stay at the inn, and for a little while Emma would have a companion or two, but there were none she’d ever really thought of as friends.

  A smile played across her lips. Well, she thought, there was one exception: the Dwyers.

  Todd and Claire Dwyer. Boy, she hadn’t thought about them for ages. Todd had been a year older than Emma, Claire a year younger, and when the Dwyers came to the inn, they were like the Three Musketeers—one for all and all for one. The three of them spent their days exploring the woods and the nights lying on the cool grass, watching for shooting stars. Emma got her kicks making fun of the “city kids,” but they were pretty cool about it. She taught them how to build forts and climb trees and they showed her what it was like to be part of a normal family. Todd had even given Emma her first kiss.

  She blushed, remembering what a disaster that had been. It was an innocent gesture, but she’d been pretty well-defended back then, and without even thinking, she’d punched him in the stomach. To cover her embarrassment, she told him that he would have to give her fair warning the next time.

  It had taken two years for Todd to try again, and as she recalled, there’d been no punching that time. When he left that summer, they’d vowed to stay in touch, but it wasn’t to be. Todd never wrote to her, and the Dwyers never came back to the Spirit Inn.

  As Emma’s life had continued its downward spiral, Todd became a symbol of the sort of love and stability she longed for. While her mother partied and argued with her druggie friends, Emma would hole up in the bedroom and fill the pages of her theme books, writing, Emma Dwyer, Emma Dwyer, Emma Dwyer.

  CHAPTER 5

  No one slept well that night. Archie, locked in a strange garage, spent hours howling in protest while Todd threatened, cajoled, and begged him to be quiet, and Gwen, furious at the situation, lay in bed in wakeful, sullen silence. By the time Todd got out of bed, he’d given up on his plan to keep the little dog. He got dressed and went downstairs to
call Claire.

  “Just don’t say I told you so,” he said when she answered the phone.

  “You know I won’t,” she told him. “I’m just sorry for your sake that it didn’t work out.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You could give it a few more days. She might change her mind.”

  “No.” Todd heard whimpering coming from the garage and lowered his voice. “Gwen’ll just be looking for an excuse to get rid of him and I’ll go crazy trying to keep him out of trouble. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us.”

  “So how do you want to do this?” she said.

  “I thought we’d bring him out to your place today, if it’s all right. If we hurry and get on the road, we can make it there by five.”

  “What about your proposal?”

  “The reservations are for tomorrow night. We’ll be back by then.”

  “You’re going to be dead tired after all that driving. Why not ask her next weekend instead?”

  “No, thanks, I’m anxious enough as it is.”

  “Well, the boys will be thrilled to see you. Can you guys stay the night? We’ve got plenty of room if you don’t mind sleeping on the pullout.”

  Todd hesitated. A sleeper sofa was fine with him, but he doubted Gwen would feel the same. Anything less than the Four Seasons was the same as roughing it, as far as she was concerned.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said.

  Claire’s voice had a hard edge to it. “Not sure it’s good enough for Her Highness?”

  “Please don’t make this worse,” Todd said. “I feel bad enough as it is.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “That wasn’t fair. If you need to just drop him off and run, that’s fine.”

  He closed his eyes gratefully. “Thanks, sis. You’re the best.”

  Claire laughed.

  “You just figured that out, did you?”

  Todd set the phone down and steeled himself before going out to the garage. After the ruckus Archie had raised the night before, he was prepared to find a mess on the floor and the dog bed in tatters. Poor Archie. He’d lost Bertie and been stuck at the kennel all week with a bunch of strangers; now he was going to be cooped up in a car all day.

  When Todd opened the door, though, he was pleasantly surprised. Not only was the floor clean and the dog bed intact, but Archie was waiting patiently, his tail beating a happy cadence on the concrete.

  “Hey there, buddy. You doing okay?”

  Todd bent down to pet him and the little dog leaped into his arms, covering his face in dog kisses. As he held the squirming ball of fur that nuzzled him with a wet nose, tears sprang to Todd’s eyes. Why couldn’t Archie have been like this last night? If only Gwen had seen what a sweet guy he really was, she would never have wanted to get rid of him. Now that her mind was made up, though, the only thing for Todd to do was to get Archie to his forever home as quickly as possible. As he set the little dog back down, he consoled himself with the thought that someday, he and Gwen would have a dog they both could love.

  “Come on, pal,” he said, grabbing the leash. “Let’s take you out for a walk. It’s going to be a long day in that car.”

  Gwen was at the breakfast table finishing her coffee when they returned home. Even after the awful night they’d had, Todd thought, she still looked beautiful, her blond hair tumbling carelessly over the silk robe that hung from her perfect shoulders. At times like this, he almost couldn’t believe his good fortune. For a formerly nerdy kid, having a girlfriend like Gwen was a dream come true.

  As the garage door closed behind him, she looked up and gave him a wan smile.

  “Where were you?”

  “Taking Archie for a walk.”

  Todd was tempted to tell her about the scene at the dog park, Archie going down the slide, giving high fives, and playing leapfrog with the kids, but he didn’t want to make things worse. There was still a part of him that hoped Gwen would change her mind, but that wouldn’t happen if she thought she was being pressured.

  “Did you call Claire?”

  He poured himself some coffee and took a seat.

  “I did,” he said.

  “And . . . ?”

  “She says she’s willing to take him, if we want her to.”

  “You’re not still thinking of keeping him, are you?”

  “No, not really.”

  Todd took a sip. The coffee that morning seemed especially bitter.

  “I told her we’d drive him out today,” he said. “If we leave soon, I think we can get there before dark.”

  Gwen hooked a golden curl behind her ear.

  “I’m not spending the entire day in that smelly car.”

  He took another sip of coffee and shook his head.

  “I thought we’d take your car.”

  “You want to put that dog in my brand-new Audi?”

  “Why not?”

  Her lips pursed. “Um, because it’s my car?”

  Todd stared at her. Why the attitude all of a sudden? Yes, Archie had made a mess in the car, but it was Todd’s fault for leaving him alone with the chicken. And he’d already given the dog a bath, so it wasn’t as if he’d be stinking up the Audi. As for the Volvo, Todd would make an appointment with the detailer to have it cleaned. Once that was done, it’d be fine.

  “Well,” he said, “we have to get him out to Claire’s somehow.”

  “No, you have to get him there.” Gwen stood and poured herself another cup of coffee. “I’m spending the weekend with Dad and Tippi.”

  Todd could feel his temper rise. Whenever the two of them had an argument, Gwen’s first impulse was always to go running back to her father and stepmother.

  “But we have reservations at Shiro’s on Sunday.”

  “So? We can go next weekend.”

  He stared at the table, wondering what to do. If he told Gwen why he was taking her to Shiro’s, he’d spoil the surprise, but if he didn’t, she’d head off to her parents’ house to sulk. The frustration must have shown on his face; Gwen set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but this really is your mess to clean up. If you’d called and asked me first, it would have saved us both a lot of grief.”

  As unhappy as he was with the way things were turning out, Todd had to admit that Gwen was right. It had been thoughtless of him to expect her to welcome a new pet without any warning. Why should she have to help him drive Archie out to Claire’s? Still, the last thing he wanted was to put off his proposal. He reached up and took her hand.

  “At least let me make it up to you by taking you to Shiro’s, okay?”

  Gwen withdrew her hand.

  “No, Daddy and Tips are having a party; I doubt I’ll be leaving before the last ferry sails.” She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “But don’t worry, I should be back on Monday.”

  Monday. Todd sighed. Maybe he should just ask Gwen now and get it over with.

  No, he thought, he wanted to do this right. A proposal wasn’t something you did on the spur of the moment; it was the first step in a life together. If he couldn’t make it work this weekend as planned, then he’d just have to wait. Another week wouldn’t kill him, he told himself. Even if, at that moment, it felt like it would.

  Todd left Gwen to finish her breakfast and headed upstairs to pack. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have bothered for just one night, but there was always a chance he’d run into some snow on the way out to Claire’s. Best to have some extra clothes for the cold weather.

  He went to the guest room closet and took down the suitcase he’d gotten for Christmas—one of a matched set from Gwen’s father—and set it out on the bed. It wasn’t something Todd would have chosen for himself, but the lock was impregnable and you could run the darned thing over with a tank without making a dent in it. As he leaned against its rigid frame, he felt something small and square dig into his thigh.

  Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box that held Gwen’s engagemen
t ring. With all the commotion the night before, he hadn’t thought to put it away, and when he got up that morning, he’d simply pulled on the same pair of pants he’d worn to the funeral. It was strange, he thought. As obsessed as he’d been about proposing to Gwen, he’d completely forgotten about the ring.

  He was about to put it back in his dresser when something told him to wait. It was possible that Gwen might go looking for something and discover it by accident, of course, but it wasn’t the fear of having her spoil his surprise that was stopping him.

  Their disagreement over Archie had shaken Todd. If the two of them couldn’t agree on something that simple, he wondered, what else would they disagree about in the future? And would those arguments always be settled in the same way, with Todd backing down and Gwen emerging victorious?

  “Maybe I’ll just take this with me,” he told himself, and slipped it into the suitcase’s zipper compartment.

  Half an hour later, Todd and Archie were on the road. With his Volvo still covered in chicken fat and Gwen’s car unavailable, Todd had decided to take his Jeep. The old Cherokee XJ had been his father’s pride and joy, and when Todd acquired it at sixteen, he’d vowed never to give it up. Gwen refused to be seen in it, but Todd loved the rugged old four-by-four. When he was behind the wheel, it felt like nothing in the world could hold him back.

  Archie sat up in the passenger’s seat, his ears cocked forward, watching the world whiz by. Todd had briefly considered putting him in the carrier, but it seemed cruel to confine the dog in such a small space for so long. The lamb’s-wool seat covers were practically indestructible and a lot more comfortable to sit on, and besides, Todd enjoyed having some company up front.

  “I was thinking we’d take 522 out to Monroe and then 2 east to Claire’s place,” Todd said. “Does that sound good to you?”

  Archie barked his approval, adding a quick tail wag for emphasis.

  “All right, then.” Todd smiled. “It’s all settled.”

  Getting such a late start, however, meant that it wasn’t long before traffic got heavy, and by eleven, northbound traffic was at a standstill. Todd took out his phone and checked the road conditions. Twenty miles of construction, a five-mile detour, and a three-car accident lay between where they were and Claire’s house, and that didn’t even include the regular maintenance crews whose Day-Glo vests always seemed to make drivers slow down and gawk. Todd sighed.