Room at the Inn for Christmas (Second Chance at Star Inn)(3)
There was no one left.
“Mandy! You’re home!”
That whirled her around to face the door to her right, just this side of the stairway. It led to the dining room and on to the kitchen and the family living quarters.
“Anthony Carter.” She forced a cheerful tone while her stomach did a sickening twist. She’d so hoped she wouldn’t see him. Hoped he’d taken a few days off for Christmas. But he was a part-time handyman at the Star and meeting had probably been inevitable. He was just as tall; his angular jaw and straight nose were just as perfect. His eyes were a strong cobalt blue and his shoulders were definitely broader. He’d taken over his father’s cattle ranch and Anthony’s hours of hard work showed. He had filled out in all the best ways. His dark hair looked like that of a man with little spare time to get regular trims.
Her old high school friend-who-was-not-a-boyfriend. No matter how badly she’d wished he would be.
Back then.
Until she’d changed her whole life around, a new career goal, a new home.
“Folks call me Cart these days, Mandy.” He came straight for her with his perfect smile, a dimple by the corner of his mouth, his blue eyes flashing with such pleasure it was clear he had no idea how terribly he’d hurt her. But then she’d always known that, hadn’t she?
She’d never been happier to be on a tight schedule. There would be no time to renew an old acquaintance.
He swept her up in a hug with arms so strong it was impossible not to be impressed. She rested her hands on his shoulders. The soft flannel of his red and green plaid shirt invited her to keep touching. She most certainly did not wrap her arms around him and did her best to keep her smile in place as he swung her in a complete circle.
Her feet touched down.
Keep it light. Keep it cheerful.
She slapped at his shoulders. She had a smile on her face to keep the slap teasing. “Folks call me Amanda these days, Cart. Hmmm. . . . Cart? Really?”
This time, when he reached for her, his shirt swung open a bit, so she could see the dark green thermal shirt underneath. His worn faded jeans and Red Wing work boots seemed odd on the Anthony Carter she’d grown up with. Cart was a cowboy boots kind of guy, and Amanda bet that he probably still wore them out at his ranch.
She couldn’t control the shiver that went through her when he took her hand in a friendly grip. He’d always meant too much to her, and she’d meant nothing to him.
“Come on back. Angel is in the kitchen.”
And now her heart melted. From broken over her parents, to embarrassed and awkward with Cart, to melted . . . all in a few seconds.
Her poor heart was taking a beating.
She focused on the melting part because that was pure pleasure.
“I talked to her on the phone yesterday and told her I was flying in.”
The smile faded from Cart’s face. “She told me. Flying in Thursday night late, flying out Saturday morning early. So you’re listing the Star Inn for sale four days before Christmas? Nice gift for the holidays.”
Amanda hoped she could do it faster, so she’d bought tickets that could be changed. “I haven’t listed it yet but I’ve talked with the Realtor.”
“Benji? You talked to Benji? He’s the only Realtor in town. We don’t even use the word ‘Realtor.’ We just say ‘Benji’ and everybody knows what we’re talking about.”
“I forget how small towns are.” She heard the snap in her voice, and he gave her a sharp look and dropped her hand. She fought to hide how much she missed his touch.
They went through the same door Cart had emerged from and stepped into the dining room. The huge mahogany banquet table stood, lined with sixteen antique oak chairs. The table was cleared and its dark brown surface gleamed, but Amanda knew that it would have a festive red tablecloth for breakfast tomorrow. Down the center of the cloth and around the edges would be the poinsettia leaves Mom had stitched in metallic golden threads.
Mom had poured her whole heart into this bed-and-breakfast; Dad, too.
“Mandy!” Angel Rafferty burst out of the swinging door to the kitchen, her arms thrown high and wide, her bright red reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. Her short white blonde hair was in its usual spikes. Her shirt was a wild splash of Christmas reds with handkerchief points that hung to her knees. A ring on every finger—thumbs included—and ten stacked bracelets in all colors and sizes. Her earrings were dangling miniature Christmas tree bulbs, red of course. She was a little plump, just enough to attest to her fine cooking, and bursting with energy that left people in awe.
Angel enveloped her with a hug as bright and warm as she was.
Unlike with Cart, Amanda held on tight. Since Mom had died when Amanda was twelve, Angel was the closest thing she’d had to a mother.
Mandy might have no family left, but maybe there was one person who well and truly loved her.
Angel took Amanda by the shoulders and pushed her back, held her at arm’s length. “My beautiful girl. Seeing you blesses my heart.”
Turning to stand beside Amanda, Angel slid an arm around her waist and swept her along to the back of the house. “Come on with us, Cart. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“I’m really exhausted, Angel.” Amanda had no desire for a long, cozy chat. “I’ll sleep in Dad’s quarters.” As if she had any hope of sleeping. “We can talk in the morning.”