I need to call Missy while things are still fresh and I don’t feel like strangling her. Rain check?”
“I’ll bring a few up when I start dinner.”
“You’re the best. Seriously.” Riding high, Jenny blew her grandfather a kiss he pretended to ignore, snagged her layers, and dragged them on as she headed back through the kitchen with a “Love you, Gran. See you at dinner, and thanks again!”
Not even the subzero temps outside flattened out the bounce in her step as she headed for the main house. See? She could totally handle this. She just had to ask the right people the right questions, and remember that no matter how cranky a guest she was dealing with, or how weird the request, it probably wasn’t a first at Mustang Ridge.
Now she just had to make sure she didn’t blow it with Missy.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying out the tone as she boot-thumped her way up the porch steps and pushed through the door into the warm entryway. “We’re unable to move your reservation to the week you’ve requested. However, I think you’ll find that’s a good thing. Just listen to what we’ve cooked up especially for you and your husband—”
“Jenny, darling!” The lilting call came from upstairs, in a familiar voice that stopped her dead in her tracks with her coat half off.
Pivoting toward the staircase, she looked up. “Mom?”
Rose Skye stood on the second step with her hand on the rubbed-smooth banister. Wearing tailored navy pants and a soft ivory sweater, with her steel gray hair swept up in a twist that had relaxed to let a few wisps fall free, she looked professionally elegant, and nothing like the jeans-and-flannel mom of Jenny’s childhood.
Eyes alight with pleasure, she stretched out a hand and drifted down the last two steps. “Come here! Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
Crossing to her, Jenny leaned into a cloud of unfamiliar perfume and returned her mother’s hug. “You, too, Mom. You’re back early.”
“I couldn’t wait to see my baby.” Rose let go and stepped back, face lighting. “Besides, I found some amazing pieces for the bedroom, and I wanted to get back here with them.”
Sigh
. “Dad said you were on the hunt for a dressing table. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“It’s beautiful. Come and see!”
“I need to make a phone call first. Guest issue, you know. Can you give me ten minutes, maybe fifteen?”
“This won’t take long.” Rose pulled a bright plum-colored parka off the rack near the door.
“We’re going outside?”
“Of course, silly. Do you think the pieces are going to carry themselves in?”
“Carry . . . Right.” Jenny shot a look out the back window, but there was no sign of life in the workshop. “Where’s Dad?”
“He had to run to the hardware store.”
“How about Foster? Junior?”
Her mother’s eyebrows climbed. “Jennifer Lynn Skye. Since when do you need a man to carry your bags for you? I taught you girls better than that.”
Jenny wanted to point out that it wasn’t about testosterone and she had work to do. But it wasn’t like Missy was sitting by the phone, waiting for her to call back—or if she was, that was Missy’s problem, not hers. And the guests weren’t the only ones she was supposed to be making nice with. “Okay, okay, you got me. Let’s go unload your booty.”
She stifled another sigh, though, as she dragged her parka back on. Darn it. She really should’ve waited for those cookies to come out of the oven.
6
N ick’s morning flew and he was back at the clinic by lunchtime. With an hour free before his first small-animal appointment, he headed for the back room, where he found the golden retriever on the grooming stand with a dog-size pile of hacked-off fur off to one side and Ruth going to town with a pair of scissors.
“Whoa there Three River Scissorhands,” he said. “He’s a dog, not a topiary!”
She spared him an eye roll. “You want to get in here with the
“I’ll bring a few up when I start dinner.”
“You’re the best. Seriously.” Riding high, Jenny blew her grandfather a kiss he pretended to ignore, snagged her layers, and dragged them on as she headed back through the kitchen with a “Love you, Gran. See you at dinner, and thanks again!”
Not even the subzero temps outside flattened out the bounce in her step as she headed for the main house. See? She could totally handle this. She just had to ask the right people the right questions, and remember that no matter how cranky a guest she was dealing with, or how weird the request, it probably wasn’t a first at Mustang Ridge.
Now she just had to make sure she didn’t blow it with Missy.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying out the tone as she boot-thumped her way up the porch steps and pushed through the door into the warm entryway. “We’re unable to move your reservation to the week you’ve requested. However, I think you’ll find that’s a good thing. Just listen to what we’ve cooked up especially for you and your husband—”
“Jenny, darling!” The lilting call came from upstairs, in a familiar voice that stopped her dead in her tracks with her coat half off.
Pivoting toward the staircase, she looked up. “Mom?”
Rose Skye stood on the second step with her hand on the rubbed-smooth banister. Wearing tailored navy pants and a soft ivory sweater, with her steel gray hair swept up in a twist that had relaxed to let a few wisps fall free, she looked professionally elegant, and nothing like the jeans-and-flannel mom of Jenny’s childhood.
Eyes alight with pleasure, she stretched out a hand and drifted down the last two steps. “Come here! Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
Crossing to her, Jenny leaned into a cloud of unfamiliar perfume and returned her mother’s hug. “You, too, Mom. You’re back early.”
“I couldn’t wait to see my baby.” Rose let go and stepped back, face lighting. “Besides, I found some amazing pieces for the bedroom, and I wanted to get back here with them.”
Sigh
. “Dad said you were on the hunt for a dressing table. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“It’s beautiful. Come and see!”
“I need to make a phone call first. Guest issue, you know. Can you give me ten minutes, maybe fifteen?”
“This won’t take long.” Rose pulled a bright plum-colored parka off the rack near the door.
“We’re going outside?”
“Of course, silly. Do you think the pieces are going to carry themselves in?”
“Carry . . . Right.” Jenny shot a look out the back window, but there was no sign of life in the workshop. “Where’s Dad?”
“He had to run to the hardware store.”
“How about Foster? Junior?”
Her mother’s eyebrows climbed. “Jennifer Lynn Skye. Since when do you need a man to carry your bags for you? I taught you girls better than that.”
Jenny wanted to point out that it wasn’t about testosterone and she had work to do. But it wasn’t like Missy was sitting by the phone, waiting for her to call back—or if she was, that was Missy’s problem, not hers. And the guests weren’t the only ones she was supposed to be making nice with. “Okay, okay, you got me. Let’s go unload your booty.”
She stifled another sigh, though, as she dragged her parka back on. Darn it. She really should’ve waited for those cookies to come out of the oven.
6
N ick’s morning flew and he was back at the clinic by lunchtime. With an hour free before his first small-animal appointment, he headed for the back room, where he found the golden retriever on the grooming stand with a dog-size pile of hacked-off fur off to one side and Ruth going to town with a pair of scissors.
“Whoa there Three River Scissorhands,” he said. “He’s a dog, not a topiary!”
She spared him an eye roll. “You want to get in here with the
Similar Books
