A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(72)

I look Block square in the eye, and I try to get back to the matter at hand. “Her death blew up my family. But I’m back now, and I’d like to do what I can to keep this a town she’d be proud of. I think she’d want that.”

Block rubs his chin. “I’m sure you’re right. And I’m intrigued by your idea of keeping it local. But I wish you’d had this big revelation a couple weeks ago. I have an offer on the table, and it’s a really good one.”

“It’s not too late,” I argue. “We could put a pause on the Sharpe contracts and spend a week or two exploring our options. The Sharpes aren’t going anywhere. And if they suspect we have another deal on the table, they’ll only be more interested, not less.”

“I hear you,” he says. “But are you sure you have time to wait? I got a message an hour ago that they were flying in early with finished contracts. Pretty sure that was happening today.”

“Today,” I repeat stupidly.

He nods.

I turn around and run down the staircase.





CHAPTER 33




OVER MY DEAD BODY





AVA “Just a simple coffee service,” I say. “The coffee, plus a couple carafes of water. You could throw in a plate of cookies. Anything you’ve got back there—Christmassy or not. As soon as you can. They’ll be here any minute.”

“It will be done,” says the young waiter standing in front of me. “And I’ll be back to bus this table right away.”

“Thank you, James.”

When he runs off, I take one look at the mess in the Evergreen Room and start stacking the teacups together. We’d hosted a local library’s board meeting this morning, and now I’m scrambling to make the place ready for the official sale of Madigan Mountain to Sharpe Industries.

The Sharpes love to show up unannounced. As I gather the lipstick-stained napkins, I wonder if this will become a theme—the Sharpes turning up whenever they feel the urge. Just to catch me off guard.

It’s nothing I can’t handle, but when I picture all my future interactions with them, I feel joyless.

James reappears with a cart and tells me he can take it from here. “There’s a floral bouquet on the piano in the lobby,” he says, sweeping dishes from the table. “Should I grab it for a centerpiece?”

“If you get around to it,” I say. “Thanks for your help with this. I really appreciate it.”

He gives me a shy smile, and I calm down just a fraction. We have great employees on the mountain. I’m not going to let them down.

As I cross the lobby, I’m simultaneously texting Mark and Melody to make sure they got all my urgent messages.

We’re almost there, Melody replies. We were at a meeting in Penny Ridge.

She means an AA meeting. Mark has had a really rough time this month, but he’s getting the help he needs.

As a result, I’ve been shouldering an almost impossibly large portion of the work. Another generous snowfall filled the resort above our usual December traffic. And then a norovirus ripped through the younger staff members, causing many of them to stay home sick from their shifts.

It’s been all hands on deck. I even took a brief stint operating a ski lift yesterday, so Bert could get some lunch. I haven’t had to do that in five years.

And all I could think about while I stood there was twenty-one-year-old Reed giving me calm advice about how to keep my hands and feet warm.

Damn him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Freezing him out hasn’t helped like I expected it to. Instead of preventing me from thinking about him, it just makes me feel petty.

I miss him so much. I ache when I picture his face.

After I swing by the front desk to request that they find rooms for the Sharpes, I stop by Mark’s office for the fountain pen he uses to sign documents and checks.

The pen was his father’s. I wonder how the late Mr. Madigan would feel about his son signing the resort away to guys with golden snakes on their ties.

I can’t even think about it without getting a stomachache. Madigan Mountain is about to be erased, and I’m the only one who cares. I’m not even a Madigan.

Although I came close once a long time ago. But it didn’t stick.

Maybe it’s a blessing that this is all happening so suddenly. I won’t have time to mourn. Even now, I hear voices in the lobby, and they have a distinctive Texan twang.

I paste on a false smile and leave the Evergreen Room to greet them.

“Miss Ava! Always a pleasure,” Grandpa says in the lobby. I bear up under his handshake. To my relief, I see Mark and Melody entering the lobby, too. At least I won’t be alone with all the Sharpes.

I reach out to shake the middle Sharpe’s hand, but instead of reciprocating, he hands me his coat. As if I’m the hostess at a restaurant he’s visiting. “Put this up for me, would you, doll?”

Too stunned to reply, I just freeze in place, the coat in my hands.

Mark has noticed this little maneuver, and his mouth twists into a grimace. He looks from the coat, to me, to Sharpe. Then he strides over and takes the coat out of my arms, as if that could solve the problem. “Let’s go into the Evergreen Room, shall we? There are some coat hooks on the wall.”

Grandpa leads the way, carrying a cognac-colored leather briefcase that probably contains the contracts. Dread pools in my stomach as I follow him through. He puts the case on the table, pops the brass latches, and opens the lid.