Room at the Inn for Christmas (Second Chance at Star Inn)(8)

The weight of running this house settled on her shoulders, and she knew she could bear that weight. But did she want to?

Last night she’d agreed to give the inn a chance, and she’d do it.

She thought of the new condo she’d bought in LA with a monthly mortgage that was barely affordable. She made a nice living and drove a good car. Her condo was comfortably furnished. She even had the wardrobe for that life, business suits and sensible low-heeled pumps.

Going back to that familiar life would be so easy. But coming home drew her, too.

She wasn’t sure if a few days were enough, but that’s all she dared give the Star. Right now she managed the Halston Beverly, but she’d been steadily working toward that big promotion. It put her on track for advancement into the corporate side and away from day-to-day management of a single hotel. A motion to her left drew her out of her thoughts.

The inn’s white tomcat with the black-tipped tail stirred from a small basket near the oven. Dipstick they’d named him because he looked like his tail had been dipped in oil.

A smile broke out on her face as she knelt beside the old tom and ran her hand down his back. The cat purred and arched as he enjoyed the caress, then walked right up her knees and butted her shirtfront with his head wanting a scratch. Dipstick had always been able to let her know just what he wanted.

“I missed you.”

The purr seemed like the cat was returning the sentiment. This was the best part yet of coming home. After sharing a sweet moment with her old pet, she washed up and turned to the list Angel had left in the same spot Amanda’s mother had always left one. With a few tricks of her own, learned at her mother’s side, Amanda. . . . no . . . Mandy. When she was here, she was Mandy. Why spend time fighting it?

Mandy dived into the morning, starting by mixing up a batch of her mother’s favorite cookies. Whatever Angel had planned was fine, but Mandy would add these to the dessert tray.

Chocolate star cookies.

Mom had considered star cookies for the Star Inn to be a signature Christmas treat.

Mandy had the first pan baking when Angel came in with a basket of fresh vegetables. Angel’s list had told her breakfast today was a broccoli quiche, so by the time Angel arrived with the main ingredient—the broccoli—Mandy had the crusts almost ready.

“It smells wonderful.” Angel beamed as she set her basket aside. Today’s outfit was pine green; in fact, she’d gone to a fair effort to resemble a Christmas tree, including ornaments dotting the long, flowing top and a headband on her blond spikes with a bobbing, sparkling star on the top of a spring standing straight up from the headband.

Even her reading glasses were green, which she donned as she began to do close work.

“I’ll mix up the quiche filling.” Angel slid a big package of red raspberries toward Mandy. “If you get done with those crusts first, you can get muffins going. I’ve got the recipe in my head, but there’s a cookbook in the cupboard over the sink.”

With a grin Mandy was afraid might be cocky, she said, “I’ve got the recipe in my head, too. I remember you and Mom wrangling over every recipe, tweaking them to get them just right. I can make ten different kinds of muffins without cracking open a cookbook.”

They worked, rolling and chopping, stirring and switching cookie pans in and out of the oven. Visiting, catching up on each other’s lives. They discussed Mandy’s old acquaintances from Heywood. Angel gushed about her grandson Toby, who was still sleeping in the back. Mandy smiled at the pride in the other woman’s voice. According to Angel, Toby was unusually good-looking, had a genius IQ—though of course he was too young to be officially tested—and was also musically, athletically and artistically gifted. Angel told Mandy so in great detail with a lot of laughter.

They had the quiche nearly baked and frozen fruit cups softening for breakfast, the muffins were piping hot and the last sheet of cookies was cooling on a rack when Angel heard her grandson call out “good morning.”

“I always ask him to let me know when he gets up. He needs a little help getting dressed, but he mostly gets himself ready to go in the morning.”

But Mandy heard some worry in Angel’s voice and suspected Angel didn’t like leaving the little boy on his own for any length of time.

“Go on back and get him dressed and off to school. I can handle things here. I’ll get the quiche out of the oven and serve breakfast. Folks usually come down a few at a time, so I can keep up. Take him a muffin and a fruit cup.”

“I always feed him from whatever’s on the menu.” After a moment’s hesitation, Angel gave Mandy a relieved smile. “It’s nice having you home, Mandy. I know you can handle it. I just hate to dump it all on you the first morning.”

Mandy gave her a wave to shoo her away. “Go, spend some time with your grandson.”

“I think I just will. Holler if you need help.” Angel rushed away.

The door swung shut on Angel and Mandy had just pulled the quiches out of the oven and set them to cool when Mandy heard the first guests coming down the stairs. Those beautiful old steps still creaked in exactly the same places. Breakfast time and she was on her own.

For the next hour, Mandy did some serious running. New folks came in every few minutes. She easily kept up with serving them and also got a chance to welcome them personally and learn their names.

She also found a growing list of needs in their rooms. Nothing drastic, but there was a flickering light fixture in Room One, a dripping faucet on the third floor. One woman rather apologetically wondered if there was too much of a draft coming through her window. All of these requests and a few more, standard problems in an old building, were made politely, and Mandy responded the same way.