Snowed In (6 page)

“It’s time for you to make a change in your life,” Dolly said with assurance. “I’ve been tending bar for twenty-three years, and I can read human nature.”

“Is that so?”

“You have the look of a man who’s ready to settle down, maybe find yourself a wife and have a couple of kids.”

He didn’t say no.

Chapter Six

One of the things Sarah liked best about running a bed-and-breakfast was that she didn’t usually have to prepare other meals. Muffins, waffles, omelets and oatmeal usually filled the bill. During the rest of the day, she provided snacks and drinks and sandwiches, but she wasn’t actually expected to tie on an apron and cook.

But here she was, standing in the walk-in pantry at ten o’clock in the morning, thinking about what she should make for lunch. A wide variety of canned goods stood at attention on the shelves, with the lima beans shoulder to shoulder beside the creamed corn and the chicken broth. Kind of a hodgepodge. A real chef would have been more organized. Again, why was she concerned about making lunch?

She could offer a repeat of breakfast. She’d already handled one small sitting when she’d thrown together an eight o’clock meal of bacon and eggs for the Reuben twins, who had stayed the night to stand guard. They’d had a bunch of wide-eyed questions about the shoot-out at Farley’s cabin, and she’d been happy to report that not a single shot was fired. Her high-minded lecture had fallen apart when she’d admitted that Blake had wounded two of the men when he single-handedly took on all four in the clearing with the oil rig.

She reached for a can of crushed tomatoes, thinking she could get a sauce started now and have spaghetti with garlic bread. Why go to all that trouble? The only people she expected for lunch were Blake and Emily, which meant she could get by with a minimum of fuss. But for some reason she wanted to create a delectable, homemade, mouthwatering meal. Why? Who was she trying to impress?

Blake.

“Really,” she muttered. Did she really need to prove to him that she was domestic? With a self-derisive snort, she shoved the tomatoes back onto the shelf.

Last night when Dolly had said that Blake looked like a man who was ready to settle down, Sarah had caught a glimpse of acknowledgment in his eyes. True enough, he was setting a new course for his life, retiring from active military duty.

But change didn’t necessarily mean he was planning to find a wife and start popping out rug rats. Even if he was, his life decisions didn’t have anything to do with her. Sarah wasn’t applying for the job of wife. Running a B and B was all the responsibility she wanted or needed.

From the kitchen, she heard Emily groan. “Oh, my God. I need coffee.”

Sarah poked her head out of the pantry. “I’ll make some more.”

Since she liked her coffee fresh, she made several pots a day rather than leaving a gallon of coffee sitting in the urn on the counter. Last winter, she’d purchased a cheapo espresso machine that never worked properly, and she was considering an upgrade to a more efficient model.

With another prolonged groan, Emily sank onto a stool at the center island. She dragged her fingers through her hair, which, although uncombed, fell in adorable curls framing her face. “I couldn’t sleep. Jeremy and I were talking on the phone all night.”

“Arguing?”

“Discussing.”

That must have been some intense discussion. Emily was still awake when she and Blake returned at three in the morning. As Sarah rinsed the glass coffee carafe in the sink, she asked, “What’s the decision? Does the wedding go forward as planned?”

“Yes,” Emily said with uncharacteristic firmness.

“Yay.”

“Jeremy isn’t happy about it,” she said, “but Blake changed his mind. And I have you to thank for that.”

“Me?” Sarah measured whole coffee beans into the grinder. “Why thank me?”

“Whatever you said to Blake must have made an impression. I heard his half of the conversation with Jeremy, and Blake told him that you and I had gone to a lot of trouble planning the wedding. He said that the B and B is perfect for security, and we should go ahead and have the most romantic weekend of our lives.”

The coffee grinder made a loud growl as Sarah tried to recall what she’d said. “I don’t remember mentioning romance.”

“That might have come from me,” Emily admitted. “I love the mountains. Jeremy and I met on the ski slopes. We shared our first kiss three years ago on New Year’s Eve at the Hotel Jerome in Aspen. The light, drifting snow was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re the romantic, all right.” Sarah finished preparing the coffee and came around the island to stand behind her friend. She rubbed Emily’s shoulders. “You could reach into a bushel of onions and pull out a sweet-smelling rose.”

“Last night, all my romantic promises didn’t do a bit of good with my reluctant groom,” she said. “It took Blake about five minutes to make Jeremy change his mind. He’s a good guy, don’t you think?”

“Does it matter what I think of Blake?”

“It could.” Emily spun around on the stool and looked her in the eye. “Blake told Jeremy that he envied us. He said that he was ready for marriage and looking for an Emily of his own.”

“That lets me out,” Sarah said.

Though she and Emily had been friends for years, they were very different women. Emily cooperated. Sarah took charge. Emily was an optimist. Not so much with Sarah. When she looked at a garden, she saw the weeds and knew they had to be pulled. Emily reminded her of a distant cousin she’d just met, Gabriella, who was on her way to getting married to one of the hottest cowboys in Pitkin County.

Women like Emily and Gabriella were the ones who collected marriage proposals, and that was a fact. Rough, tough men like Blake wanted soft, sweet ladies when it came to settling down. He’d prefer Sarah for a friend, of course. Not for a mate.

“What time are Jeremy and his father arriving?”

“They’ll get to the airport in Aspen at about two and rent a car. They should be here by three. And the general will have two of his aides with him.”

Sarah heard a hint of tension in Emily’s usually melodic voice. In spite of her optimism, she was worried. “Do you call Jeremy’s dad the general?”

“To tell you the truth, I try to avoid calling him anything.” She rolled her eyes. “His first name is Charles, but he’s not a Chuck and definitely not a Charlie. And I can’t imagine calling him Dad.”

“Is he going to be wearing his uniform and medals?”

“I seriously hope not.”

Sarah went to the counter and lifted the lid on an old-fashioned bread box. Inside were a couple of blueberry muffins from yesterday and a loaf of homemade wheat bread. “Would you like toast with your coffee?”

“I would,” Blake said as he stalked into the kitchen. He was dressed in a parka and jeans. His face was ruddy as though he’d been outside in the cold. “Scratch that. I’m hungrier than toast. Did I see ham in the fridge?”

“How long have you been awake?”

“I got up a little after you,” he said.

She’d been out of bed at seven-thirty. “Why haven’t I seen you?”

“I went right to work.” He unzipped his parka. “I wanted to get my surveillance cameras placed. And the terminal for my satellite phone hooked up.”

“I hope you realize that during a heavy snowstorm none of those fancy wireless devices are going to work.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “My next project is to interface with your landline and computer.”

She looked down at his boots, glad to see they were clean and he hadn’t tracked dirt through the house. “I have a couple of housekeeping rules.”

“Shoot.”

“If there’s mud on the boots, they’d better be wiped clean or taken off at the door. There are hooks by the front door for your hat and jacket. And back here—” she pointed to the half glass kitchen door that connected to the mudroom “—you’ll find more places to hang outerwear. I don’t want to spend my whole day picking up after my guests.”

When he snapped a crisp salute, she cringed.
Way to charm him, Sarah! Give the man a lecture about dirty boots.

As he dropped off his jacket in the mudroom, she placed the loaf of bread on the cutting board and took out a knife.

“I’d rather have a muffin,” Emily said. “Blueberry?”

“Right.”

Sarah put together a plate for Emily with a muffin and a smear of cream cheese. But her focus stayed on Blake as he emerged from the mudroom. Under the parka, he’d been wearing a black turtleneck that outlined the breadth of his chest and his lean torso. His jeans looked new, and she wondered if he’d bought them especially to come to the mountains.

Lifting her gaze to his face, she noticed that he still hadn’t shaved. The stubble on his chin was turning into a beard. The dark brown hair falling over his forehead made his eyes seem even bluer. Aware that she was staring, she looked down at the cutting board. “Did you want a sandwich now? Or would you rather wait for lunch?”

“Were you planning something special for lunch?”

Was she? “I don’t know.”

“Don’t bother,” Emily said. “There’s going to be a mob for dinner with Jeremy and his dad and the two aides. I’ll help you put something together.”

“I can do my own sandwich,” he said as he came toward her and took the bread from her hand. “Out of the way, Sarah. Honk, honk.”

She glanced up sharply. He was grinning, and she matched his smirk with one of her own. Last night, she’d honked his nose. That was the kind of relationship they had. Forget the mesmerizing blue eyes and the sexy body—they were pals.

Taking the bread from him, she said, “I’ll do the sandwich. I’m the hospitality professional here.”

“Is it okay if I pour my own coffee?”

“Help yourself.”

“Here’s another rule,” Emily said. “Feel free to help yourself to food during the day, but always put your used dishes in the sink. And never ever start the dishwasher.”

“You’ve been here before,” he said to her.

“I worked here for a summer,” Emily said. “That’s how Sarah and I got to be friends. Ski season was over so I was done with teaching the snow bunnies, but I didn’t want to leave the mountains.”

“Didn’t want to go back to California,” Sarah said.

“I would have worked here for free to avoid getting roped into my dad’s campaign,” Emily said. “Helping out at the B and B was a perfect solution. We had a full house.”

Blake set down a tablet-size computer screen on the counter as he poured himself a mug of coffee. “I would have guessed that winter was your busy season, with the skiing.”

“Not at all,” Sarah said as she laid out the fixings for a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Her earlier clumsiness was forgotten as she deftly sliced bread and tomato. “Most skiers stay in hotels that are closer to the slopes. The people who come here are usually interested in day trips, hiking, bicycling and sightseeing. I’m busiest in summer and in fall when the aspen leaves turn gold.”

While she assembled his plate with a sandwich and an apple, they all three chatted. Emily quickly ate her muffin and excused herself so she could get ready for the arrival of her groom and the general. Sarah and Blake ended up in the dining room that connected to the kitchen through a swinging door. She sat at the head of the long table that had been in her family for as long as she could remember, and he was to her right.

“Tell me about this place,” he said. “How did you get to be an innkeeper?”

“Are you asking what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like this?”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t remember calling you a nice girl.”

“Never mind.” She didn’t want to hear his opinion of her. “Being an innkeeper is in my blood. My ancestor Prudence Hanover settled in Carbondale in the mid-1800s and ran a boardinghouse for miners. She’d lost her husband in the Civil War and never remarried, but she had four kids with a mysterious lover.”

The lover turned out to be the infamous Louis Rousseau, who had a whole other family on the other side of the mountain. The dashing Frenchman was a charming cad, and Prudence was a smart businesswoman who made a good living with her boardinghouse.

“After Prudence passed away, one of her daughters took over the family business, then another generation. In the early 1900s, another daughter—Trudy Bentley—bought this place and refurbished it as a hunting lodge.”

“You mentioned Theodore Roosevelt,” he said.

“He visited Colorado frequently when he was setting up national parks,” she said. “Teddy had his flaws, but he was an environmentalist. When he was in this area, he stayed at Bentley’s B and B. We had lots of other famous people who came here to relax. One of the walls in my office is covered with photographs of celebrities.”

“You’re proud of the B and B.” He was devouring his sandwich in huge bites, and she wondered if one ham-and-cheese would be enough to satisfy his appetite.

“My family has done a lot of work on the place, adding on and renovating and repairing. My big contribution has been the trail markers—burnt wood signs showing easy hiking trails in the area.”

“Your parents?”

“They pretty much left me in charge eight years ago when they moved to California and enrolled in college.” She thought back to those early years and shuddered. “It wasn’t easy being the boss. That’s when I hired Emily, which turned out to be a brilliant move. Her easygoing attitude is what kept me sane.”

“You love what you do.”

She knew how lucky she was. Some people never found a lifestyle and occupation that made them happy. For her, the B and B came ready-made. “I like running this place, and I do a good job. It’s pretty much perfect.”

“You wouldn’t change a thing,” he said.

“I’ve got no complaints.” There was, however, a glaring hole in her perfect B and B bubble. Like so many Bentley women before her, Sarah was alone. Though her mother had been an exception, falling in love with her father and raising Sarah and her brother, her mother fit the mold of a strong, independent woman. She’d refused to change her family name and insisted on staying at the B and B until Sarah was old enough to take over. It hadn’t been a surprise when her mom decided on law school.

Glancing across the table at Blake, she couldn’t believe how much she was talking. Hospitality was all about the guest, and Sarah usually sat back and listened while others chatted. “Enough about me.”

“I want to hear more,” he said. “This is just starting to get interesting.”

“Really? You didn’t think the legend about the mystery Frenchman was intriguing? He was supposed to have a lost treasure.”