Room at the Inn for Christmas (Second Chance at Star Inn)(4)
It didn’t even slow Angel down.
They reached the kitchen and Amanda found herself plunked down on the cushioned bench seat of the breakfast nook. High-backed oak benches on each side of a broad oak table. The nook was built into a bay window—a real bay window that was more than just glass curving out and back. The whole outer wall of the house curved to make almost a little room with the facing benches and the big table.
She looked out the window and saw the heavy woods that backed the house, and a corner of the street to the front glowed with twinkle lights everywhere. The town went all out to make the holiday festive, not just here at the Star Inn but all over. And most especially those places close to the town square.
Angel pushed a basket of freshly baked ciabatta rolls in front of Amanda, then a stick of softened butter and a jar of cherry preserves. The warm yeasty smell told her these had only been out of the oven a few minutes.
“Are you still doing all the cooking here?” Amanda ran her hand down the side of the distinctive jelly jar with Angel’s hand-printed label. She saw a rack of cooling rolls all ready for breakfast tomorrow.
“I have to cook breakfast somewhere, don’t I?” Angel jerked one shoulder with her bright smile. “I might as well make a big batch of food as a small meal just for myself.”
As if nobody ate cold cereal for breakfast.
“And you still put on an afternoon tea?” Amanda wished Angel would admit how hard she worked . . . and that she was tired of it.
Except the woman didn’t look one bit tired.
“Yep, but I just bake a cake or some cookies or sweet rolls or scones, whatever matches my mood. I get them in the oven before I start breakfast and they’re done by the time I get food on the table. I only put in two or three hours most days. Your dad had someone else in to clean daily, so I don’t work all that hard.” Angel humphed in disgust, but as always with Angel there was humor accompanying everything. “It’s not even a real job anymore. Your dad was putting me out to pasture. I had to fight Lorrie, our housekeeper, to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen.”
Cart came and sat across from Amanda. He reached for a warm roll, tore it open and began buttering. “What we need to talk about tonight is this garbage about you selling the Star.”
Not garbage, just simple truth.
“That’s right; I’m closing it.”
“Closing it?” Cart’s butter knife froze as he shouted the words.
Angel gasped and turned from where she’d just set a teakettle on the stove to heat.
“Selling it is bad enough,” Cart said. “But you can’t close it.”
Forging on despite how upset they were, Amanda said, “It will be a good thing for both of you. Angel, you can move back into your own home.”
After her children were grown and her husband died, Angel had lived in the back of the Star Inn, but as far as Mandy knew, she still owned a nice house in town. “You can spend more time with that grandson you adore, do some traveling. Cart, you can focus on your cattle and horses. I know you’ve made a success of ranching. Dad said you’re just working in here out of habit; you sure don’t need the money. We’ll list the place for sale and see if anyone is interested. They can use it as a bed-and-breakfast or a private home or remodel and rent out apartments if they want.”
Cart set his butter knife down with a snap. “This place has reservations a year in advance.”
“We’ll have to cancel them. Heaven knows canceling reservations is common enough in the hotel industry.” And she oughta know since she worked for the Halston at their flagship hotel in Beverly Hills.
“This isn’t one of your posh hotels sitting in a row of other posh hotels, Mandy. If people can’t stay here, they can’t stay at all. It’s the anchor of the town square. What will Heywood do if one whole side of the square is an empty house sitting in darkness?”
Amanda clamped her jaw tight to keep from getting into a pointless argument. Her decision had been made.
“And what about the tourists who stay here? They do a lot of shopping and eating around town.”
“There are other hotels.”
“No, there is one motel, decent but strictly discount and out near the highway; a lot of those folks don’t even come downtown.”
Angel scooted in beside Amanda.
She was well and truly surrounded.
“You can’t just close it, honey. Surely you can see that. If you’re determined to sell, it’ll be much more valuable if it’s kept open.”
“Well, there’s no one to run it, and I refuse to make you do it, Angel. I know how hard you work already, no matter how easy you make it sound.” In fact, Angel had been doing everything since Dad had died. It had to be exhausting. “I’m not loading more on your shoulders. And Lorrie is, I’m sure, working much longer days that she planned on when she was hired. And Cart, you don’t have time to—”
“Mandy,” Cart cut her off, “you’re right we can’t do it. We’re doing what we’ve always done and that’s about all we have time for. We’ve been keeping things going, but it’s too much. It’s your dad that needs to be replaced. Lou Star was the man who made things work. He was the host. He welcomed people and made sure they were comfortable. He joined them for breakfast and hosted the afternoon tea. He was in charge of ordering and billing. I did the repairs, and I’ve been doing my best to keep up with the account books since he died. But Lou’s the one who kept his eyes open for problems. He’s the one who ran this place.”