Last Chance Knit & Stitch (37 page)

—FreshFiction.com

“Touching … funny … Ramsay’s characters were endearing and lovable, and I eagerly look forward to the rest of [the series].”

—NovelReaction.com

“A sweet romance … sassy and fun characters.”

—Book Hounds (maryinhb.blogspot.com)

“Captivating … great characterization, amusing dialogue … I am glad that the universe sent
Welcome to Last Chance
my way, and I am going to make sure that it does the same with Hope Ramsay’s future books.”

—LikesBooks.com

Discussion Questions for
Last Chance Knit & Stitch

1. Last Chance Knit & Stitch
   shares some important themes with
   Little Women
   , especially with respect to a woman’s role in society. How do the books compare in their portrayal of the conflict women feel between familial duty and personal growth? How do the books compare in their treatment of gender stereotypes?
   
2. Both
   Last Chance Knit & Stitch
   and
   Little Women
   end with the hero and heroine under an umbrella. In one book, the hero is holding the umbrella and in the other the heroine does the honors. Do you think that matters? Which book, in your opinion, has the more satisfying ending? Why do you feel that way?
   
3. Both Simon’s and Molly’s parents had expectations of them that were not realistic. Discuss how Simon and Molly handled their parents’ expectations. Do you
   think their strategies were good ones? Did your own parents have expectations of you that you couldn’t fulfill? Do you have expectations of your own children that may not be realistic? What about the parents in
   Little Women
   ? How did Mr. and Mrs. March handle the conflict between what they wanted for their children and their children’s personal fulfillment?
   
4. Learning to deal with anger is an important theme in the book. How is anger a destructive force in Simon’s life? Is there any time in the book when Simon uses his anger as a positive force? Do you think he would be as good at harnessing the positive aspects of anger, if he had not also experienced anger’s darker side? Do you think Molly’s anger was a positive or negative force for her?
   
5. Scattered throughout the novel are several scenes that mirror
   Little Women
   . Can you find them? Email your answers to [email protected] for prizes and swag.
   
6. How is Leslie Hayes similar to Theodore Laurence? How are they different? Are there times in
   Last Chance Knit & Stitch
   when Simon is more like Laurie? How is Simon similar to Professor Bhaer?
   
7. At one point in the book Miz Miriam postulates that dogs are closer to God than human beings. Do you agree with this idea? If so, why? And if you don’t, why not?
   
8. Muffin doesn’t like Les, but the book is silent about why. Do you have any theories? Do you think Ricki
   was right when she made Les work so hard to make friends with the dog? Has a pet ever come between you and your significant other? How did that situation work out?
   
9. Both Ricki and Les and Molly and Simon were couples dealing with age differences. Do you think age should be a disqualifying factor in seeking someone to love? Why do you think modern society frowns on romances between couples of different ages, while it was often the case that younger women married much older men in the 1800s, when
   Little Women
   was written? Do you think there are gender stereotypes when it comes to May-December romance?
   

T
he bitter January wind had blown in a cold front. The clouds hung heavy and somber over the swamp. There would be rain. Possibly ice.

Jenny Carpenter wrapped a hand-knit shawl around her shoulders and gazed through the window above the kitchen sink of the house she’d bought last August. The tops of the Carolina pines bent in the wind. The weatherman said it was going to be quite a storm, and Allenberg County had already had one ice storm this year—on Christmas Eve. It was just four days past New Year’s Day.

She turned away from the window toward the heart of her almost-restored house. Her kitchen restoration was almost finished. Yellow subway tiles marched up the backsplash behind the Vulcan stove, an antique pie safe occupied the far wall. The curtains were gingham. Eveything about this room was bright and cheerful, in sharp contrast to the weather outside.

She closed her eyes and imagined the smell of apple pie cooking in her professional baker’s oven. This kitchen
would rival the one Savannah Randall had installed at the old movie theater in town. She smiled. Savannah’s strudel was good, but Jenny’s apple pie had still won the blue ribbon at the Watermelon Festival last summer.

She could almost hear Mother sermonizing about pride, and her smile faded. She turned back toward the window.

Jenny hated the winter. She hated the cold. And despite her excitement about the kitchen, winter was getting the best of her.

The crew she’d hired to cut back the overgrowth on either side of the driveway had called to say that they wouldn’t be out today, and probably not tomorrow. The movers weren’t going to show up today either, which meant Mother’s antique furniture would spend yet another night in the commercial storage space where it had been sitting for five years. And Gladys Smith, the leader of the Methodist Women’s Sewing Club, had called five minutes ago all a-twitter because there was ice in the forecast.

The Sewing Club had graciously volunteered to help Jenny sew curtains for the bedrooms and sitting room. The fabric bolts—all traditional low country floral designs—were stacked in the room that would soon be the dining room. But, as Gladys pointed out, the gals were not coming all the way out to the swamp on an icy day in January. So tomorrow Jenny might be the only one sitting out here sewing.

It wasn’t just the weather. She knew that she’d taken a huge risk buying the Jonquil House. The old place wasn’t anywhere near downtown. If she’d been able to buy Charlotte Wolfe’s house, her bed and breakfast would have been located near the middle of things. And she
would probably already be in business, since Charlotte’s house was in perfect condition.

But Charlotte had changed her mind about selling.

So Jenny had bought the Jonquil House. Even if it wasn’t downtown.

The house was near the public boat launch on the Edisto River. There were some really good fishing and hunting spots right outside the front door. And you couldn’t beat the view from the porch on a summer’s day. She hoped to attract business from hunters and fishermen and eco tourists anxious to canoe the Edisto or bird watch in the swamp.

The Jonquil House had the additional benefit of being dirt cheap, since it had been abandoned for years. But Jenny had to spend a lot of cash to shore up the foundation, replace the roof, and update the plumbing and electrical. Not to mention installing her state-of-the-art kitchen. Still, the purchase price had been so ridiculously low that on balance, Jenny was financially ahead of where she would have been if she’d bought Charlotte’s house.

If all went well, the Jonquil House would be open for business by March first, just in time for the jonquils to be in full bloom. There were hundreds of jonquils naturalized in the woods surrounding the house. No doubt they had been planted by the Raintree family, who had built the house more than a hundred years ago as a hunting camp and summer getaway.

Those jonquils were the reason she’d chosen yellow for her kitchen walls. She couldn’t wait to take pictures of her beautiful white house against the backdrop of the dark Carolina woods, gray Spanish moss, and bright yellow daffodils. That photo would be posted right on the home page of the inn’s website, which was still under construction too.

She was thinking about her breakfast menu when there came a sudden pounding at her front door. Her new brass knocker had yet to be installed, but that didn’t seem to bother whoever had come to call.

In fact it sounded like someone was trying to knock the darn door down.

She hurried down the center hall, enjoying the rich patina of the restored wood floors and the simple country feeling of the white lath walls. Maybe the movers had changed their minds and she’d be able to get Mother’s furniture set up in the bedrooms, after all. Then she’d know what additional pieces she needed. A shopping trip to Charleston had already been scheduled for early February.

She pulled open the door.

“It’s about damn time; it’s freezing out here.” A man wearing a rain-spattered, leather jacket, a soggy gray wool hat, and a steely scowl attempted to walk into her hallway. Jenny wasn’t about to let this biker dude intimidate her even if he was a head taller than she was.

His features were stern, his nose just a tad broad, as if it had been broken once. Several days’ growth shadowed his cheeks, and his eyebrows glowered just above eyes so dark they might have been black. If he’d been handsome or heroic-looking, she might have been afraid of him or lost her nerve. Handsome men always made Jenny nervous. But big guys with leather jackets and attitudes had never bothered her in the least. She always assumed that men like that were hiding a few deep insecurities.

“Can I help you?” she said in her most polite future-innkeeper voice.

“You damn well can. I want a room.”

“Um, I’m sorry but the Inn isn’t open.”

“Of course it’s open. You’re here. The lights are on. There’s heat.”

“We’re not open for business.”

He leaned into the door frame. Jenny held her ground. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

She was tempted to tell him he was an ass, but she didn’t use language like that. Mother had beaten that tendency out of her. It didn’t stop her from thinking it though.

When she didn’t reply, he said. “I’m the man who sold you this house. I would like, very much, to come in out of the rain.”

“The man who—”

“The name’s Gabriel Raintree. My family built this house. Now let me in.”

She studied his face. Gabriel Raintree was a
New York Times
bestselling author of at least twenty books, several of which had been made into blockbuster horror films. His books were not on her reading list. And she wasn’t much of a movie-goer.

She’d never met Mr. Raintree. The sale of the Jonquil House had been undertaken by his business manager and attorney. So she had no idea if this guy was the real Gabriel Raintree or just some poser. Either way she wasn’t going to let him come in. Besides, the house was not ready for guests. The furniture had not even arrived.

“I’m sorry, the Inn isn’t open.”

His black eyebrows lowered even further, and his mouth kind of curled up at the corner in something like a sneer. He looked angry, and it occurred to Jenny that maybe she needed to bend a little. The minute that thought crossed her mind, she rejected it. She had inherited a steel backbone from Mother, and this was a good time to
employ it. She wouldn’t get very far as an innkeeper if she allowed herself to be a doormat.

“I need a place to stay,” he said, “for at least three months. I’m behind on my deadline.”

Three months. Good lord, she wasn’t running a boarding house. But then, she supposed that if anyone could afford three months lodging at a B and B it would be someone like Gabriel Raintree.

The income would be nice. But she wasn’t ready for any guests yet. And this guy, if he was Gabriel Raintree, would be a pain in the neck.

“I’m very sorry the Inn won’t be open until March. If you need to stay in Last Chance, there’s always the Peach Blossom Motor Court. Or you could see if Miriam Randall will take you in. She sometimes takes in boarders.”

“Damnit all, woman, this is my house.” He pushed against the door, and Jenny pushed back.

“Not anymore,” she said.

Thankfully, he stopped pushing and stepped back from the threshold, a surprised frown folding down between his eyes. She didn’t wait around to punctuate her point. She slammed the door on him. Then she twisted the bolt lock and took a couple of steps back from it, her heart hammering in her chest.

Gabe stood on the porch breathing hard. It seemed surreal to be back in Allenberg County. Decades had passed since he’d walked down the long driveway to the house. But not much had changed. He’d expected Zeph to be waiting on the porch with a rifle across his knees. He’d expected Violet to open the door and invite him in for a piece of her cornbread.

Instead, he’d come face-to-face with a tiny, birdlike woman who hadn’t been very impressed by his name dropping. She’d stood there, framed in the doorway, and given him an intractable look that was as bewitching as it was grave.

His heart twisted in his chest. He was an idiot to come back here. There was a good reason the family had abandoned this place.

But then again, he needed to disappear for a while. He needed to get away from the crazy fans who haunted him wherever he went in Charleston.

So he’d come here to the middle of nowhere, knowing that the old family hunting lodge was being turned into a bed and breakfast. Coming out here to the middle of the swamp was a brilliant idea. It was peaceful here.

He stepped down off the porch, frustration tensing the muscles of his neck and shoulders. If the inn wasn’t going to open until March he’d have to come up with another plan. The rain was picking up, and sleet was beginning to mix with it. The roads were going to get bad before too much longer.

He’d have to book a room at the Peach Blossom Motel. But tomorrow, when the storm had passed, he’d come back out here and negotiate. The little innkeeper had her price. Everyone did.

Tomorrow he’d buy the Jonquil House back.