Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(35)

“Thanks.” I took the coffee in my left hand to shake his with my right.

“Come on in. Your mother is in the kitchen with, and I quote, ‘more goddamn apples from the freezer.’”

I chuckled and followed him inside, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar infused their home. “Sounds like I’d better check on her.”

“I’m hiding out in the office. Find me before you leave. I’d like to talk about the hotel. See if you’ve thought about taking it over.”

“I haven’t.”

His smile faded. “I’d really like to know what you’re thinking.”

“I know.” I rubbed my jaw. “Give me another few weeks. Get past Thanksgiving.”

“Sure.” He sighed. “I don’t mean to pressure you. I just want to make a plan.”

“Understandable.”

He gave me a small smile, then retreated to his office.

The Eloise was part of this family, like the ranch. Letting it go would be like cutting a limb on our family tree.

If not for the lawsuit, if not for Briggs, Dad wouldn’t be in such a hurry for an answer. But every time I saw him, he brought it up.

The hotel ran mostly on autopilot for my parents. They’d had decades of experience, especially Mom. Yes, they had to pitch in here and there. But their accounting firm handled most of the financials. And Eloise took her role as manager seriously, coordinating employees and schedules and guests and supplies.

Could I handle it? Yeah. Did I want to? That was an entirely different question.

I walked into the kitchen, finding my mother at the counter, her hands in a bowl of dough. “I hear you’re into the apples.”

Mom glanced up and gave me a devilish smirk. “I’m cutting down that apple tree.”

“Grandma’s apple tree?”

“Do you know how many five-gallon buckets I filled this year? Six. I’ve spent forty years picking apples and coring apples and freezing apples. I’m so sick of these damn apples, I can’t see straight. You know what kind of pie I want to make? Peach. Or cherry. Or chocolate.”

“So you’re saying that this apple pie is up for grabs?” I went to the counter and threw an arm around her shoulders, kissing her hair.

“No. You can’t have it.” Mom took her hands out of the bowl, taking the floury dough out and laying it on the counter. Then she reached for a wooden rolling pin, handing it over. “Roll that out for me.”

“Pastries are Lyla’s forte, not mine,” I said, setting the pin aside so I could wash my hands in the sink. Then I went about rolling out the pie crust, doing my best to barely touch the dough so it would be as flaky as possible.

Mom came back with a glass pie pan, watching at my side as I worked. Once upon a time, she’d have offered suggestions and tips, but these days, she simply watched. “See? You’re not so bad.”

“Dad wants to talk about the hotel.”

She hummed. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It will break Eloise’s heart.”

“Your sister loves that hotel. But she also loves you. Just because you take it over doesn’t mean she can’t when she’s ready. But she’s not ready, Knox. We all know it. And if she were being honest with herself, Eloise would know it too.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Maybe.” She blew out a long breath. “We sheltered her during the lawsuit. That was probably a mistake.”

“No, I think you handled it right. It was hard enough on her as it was.”

Eloise had hired a man in housekeeping last year. He’d started out fine, working part-time. Then one day he’d skipped a shift. Eloise had let it go and covered for him. It had happened three more times before Mom got wind of it.

Dad had come in, met with the employee, and given him a warning. Yet it had happened again, so Dad had canned the guy’s ass. One week later, we were sued for wrongful termination and sexual harassment.

The asshole said Eloise had propositioned him. She’d invited him out with some of the other staff for a drink at Willie’s, trying too hard to be a friend instead of a boss. He’d gone with them, and at the end of the night, she’d hugged him.

My parents were in the right. Eloise should have fired him the first time, but because she’d allowed it, the man’s smarmy lawyer thought he’d get rich suing the Eden family.

Lawsuits were never easy and though they’d come out victorious, it had caused plenty of unwanted stress.

“I’ll think about the hotel,” I told Mom. “But I’m not ready to decide. Not yet.”

“Fair enough.” She nodded and handed me a knife.

I laid the pie plate over the crust, tracing the curve of the dish, then fit the sheet to the bottom while she came over with a pan of apples coated in cinnamon and sugar.

We worked in silence, making the pie and getting it in the oven, a task we’d done a hundred times because Grandma’s tree was a monster and Mom wasn’t the only one who’d spent summers picking apples.

When it was in the oven, I washed my hands and put my coffee in the microwave to heat up.

“Do you need to get going?” Mom asked. “Or can you stick around to take this pie to Memphis?”