Chapter 1
Alice’s To-do List
Buy potato chips. The family-size bag. If anyone eats them, act appropriately grief-stricken at their funeral.
After two days of driving, Alice Moore needed to make a pit stop to stretch her legs but ended up in a drive-thru instead. Hey, it wasn’t her fault that exercise and extra fries sounded alike. She’d just finished licking the salt off her fingers when she realized she was nearly at her destination.
She was either experiencing heart palpitations or her tummy had regrets about supersizing her order.
Probably it was both.
What was it people said about the past—don’t look back? Well, she’d tried not to. Valiantly. But as she drove along the north shore of Lake Tahoe, surrounded by 360 degrees of sharp, majestic, still snow-covered peaks, she felt her past settling over her as heavily as the storm swirling overhead.
It’d been four years since she’d been in Sunrise Cove, the small mountain town where she’d been born and bred. She’d spent most of her adolescence at her dad’s work, the Last Chance Inn, nestled in the hills above the lake. But that’d been a long time ago. She’d been braver back then, full of hope. These days she was more of a slap-an-out-of-order-sticker-on-her-forehead sort of person.
She’d been driving for two days, blasting old 1980s rock so she wouldn’t think too much. But the closer to Lake Tahoe she got, the more her heart began to pound in her ears. Or maybe it was just the squealing of the clutch in Stella, her 1972 Chevy Blazer, proving that she needed a throw-out bearing replacement even more than she needed gas.
Turning off Lake Drive, she headed up Last Chance Road. At the end of the street, the ostentatious gate in front of her was wide open. She drove along the muddy and still snow-patched land surrounded by thick groves of towering pines that made the place smell like perpetual Christmas.
The old Wild West Last Chance Inn had been standing tall and proud since 1885, complete with a wraparound porch and wooden signs above the windows labeled SALOON, JAIL, GRAVEYARD, etc., all making her feel like she’d just stepped back in time. She knew every nook and cranny of the place like the back of her hand. She’d learned to drive here, and was proud to say she’d only hit the mailbox three times. She’d ridden her bike here, and had helped her dad fix up anything with an engine. Convinced she could fly, she’d climbed the
trees and jumped from the high branches. It’d taken a broken ankle at age ten to figure out that maybe she wasn’t meant to be airborne.
She parked in front of the inn, but her gaze went to the barn, a hundred yards to the south. Beyond that was a creek where inn guests had once panned for gold, but it was the barn that had always called to Alice. Along with her car racing older brother and dad, she’d lost hours and weeks and months working on the inn’s incredible collection of antique and old muscle cars.
If there was a heaven, it looked just like the inside of that barn. At least in Alice’s mind. With a sigh, she stared out her windshield at what had once been the very best part of her childhood. Not the buildings, but the searingly intense woman who’d lived in them. Eleanor Graham had been a lot of things to Alice; pseudograndmother, teacher . . . enforcer. Her recent death had blown Alice’s heart into little bits, leaving her feeling a whole bunch like the inn in front of her.
Badly in need of fixing.
And now she, a woman who owned little but the big, fat chip on her shoulder, also owned one-third of the Last Chance Inn and all its surrounding property. Boggling, and . . . terrifying.
The stipulation of the will stated that all three inheritors needed to come to the inn for the necessary renovations, or forfeit their individual one-third of the holdings. Today was the deadline in which to show up. Decisions needed to be made.
Not exactly Alice’s forte, at least not good decisions anyway.
She slid out of Stella just as a light snow began to drift down from the turbulent sky. Par for the course for April in Tahoe. Or maybe it was because her armor of choice, three coats of mascara, wasn’t waterproof.
There was a metaphor about her life in there somewhere, and her stomach tightened the way it did whenever she had to go to the dentist, murder a spider, or face her past, because it seemed no matter how hard she tried, the past always caught up with her. And right on cue, hers pulled up in an electric Nissan LEAF, a big decorative sunflower on the dash.
Lauren Scott.
Her one-time BFF got out in a clear rain jacket, hood up over her shiny blond hair, a pretty white sundress with pink tights, an open matching pink cardigan, and dainty ballerina flats. The heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose were a nice touch. Lauren was cute and adorable as ever. In contrast, Alice wore faded, ripped jeans and a beloved old Bon Jovi concert tee, her wild dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, feeling decidedly not cute nor anything close to adorable.
Just getting eyes on Lauren after all this time made her ache for the days when things had been easy. And good. Back to when they’d been each other’s person through thick and thin, when Lauren had been in love with Will, Alice’s brother, and they’d all felt like a family. A real family.
But Will was gone.
She missed him. And she missed Lauren, so much so that she felt both a little nauseated and unbearably happy at the sight of her.
“Wow.” Lauren leaned back against her car. “You actually showed up. I’m shocked.”
And obviously not the good kind of shocked.
Lauren drew a deep breath, like just looking at Alice pained her. “The last time I saw you,” she said, “you made it quite clear that you were never ever coming back.”
Yep, Alice had definitely said that, and a whole lot more. She’d said and done some horrible and unforgivable things, and the pain in her chest told her she wasn’t going to escape her own demons anytime soon. “I can’t do this, not right now.”
“Or ever, right?” Lauren asked.
Truth was truth. “Look, we’ve got a lot to figure out here, and we can’t do that if we’re fighting. Let’s just do what we’re here to do. For Eleanor.”
“You know how I feel about Eleanor.”
Yes, and Alice knew why too. “And yet you came.”
“I had to.” A little bit of Lauren’s carefully neutral facade crumbled as she searched Alice’s gaze. “I have questions.”
Questions Alice hoped to avoid.
Lauren pulled off her sunglasses. “So you still like to avoid talking about any real problem, especially between us.”
Alice laughed roughly. “The real problem between us is that Will is dead.” Something she still blamed herself for. “But you’re right, it’s not something I want to talk about, especially with you, and—”
And shit. Lauren’s eyes went suspiciously shiny, causing guilt and grief to slam into Alice. “See, this is why we can’t do this.” Rocked by the emotions battering at her, she spun on a heel toward the front door, noticing for the first time the nice, brand-sparkling-new dark gray Chevy truck parked off to the side. Perfect, because she could guess who it belonged to—the third inheritor. Even as she thought it, the front door of the inn opened, and there Knox Rawlings stood in the doorway, casual as you please.
Alice, head still spinning from seeing Lauren, stopped dead in her tracks, her brain skidding to a complete halt. Apparently her feet too, because Lauren plowed into her back.
Giving her a dirty look, Lauren moved around her and kept going.
Not Alice. Her feet had turned into cement blocks. She’d expected Knox to be here. She’d warned herself, promised her awkward inner tomboy teenager that certainly he’d have lost his easy, effortless, charismatic charm by now, that maybe he’d also grown out of those good, rugged looks as well, hopefully having gained a beer belly and lost some hair, and maybe also a few teeth.
But nope, none of the above.
Knox was six-feet-plus of lean muscles and testosterone, and damn, of course he’d gotten better with time. Alice, on the other hand, felt like a train wreck. She could only hope he
didn’t remember her as the creeper teen, four years his junior, who’d once spent every free second she had spying on him as he worked for Eleanor too.
Lauren hit the front steps first, swiping at her tears. Alice followed, fighting her own. Stupid sympathy crying gene.
“I’m so sorry,” Lauren murmured to Knox. “It’s awful to meet you under these circumstances. I’m Lauren Scott.”
“Knox Rawlings,” he said and turned to Alice with absolutely zero recognition in his eyes.
Just what she’d wanted, so why did that irritate her? Ordering her feet to move, she promised herself ice cream, cookies, pies, whatever, as long as she moved with grace and confidence. Lots of confidence.
Instead, she tripped over a loose rock and had to catch herself. Stupid feet. “Alice Moore,” she managed, as if she were completely calm. But the truth was, she’d not been calm a single day in her life. “Maybe we could get out of the crazy storm and get this over with?” With that, she brushed past them both and into the inn.
She got a few feet into the wide-open living room, but before she could process her emotions, she was greeted by a huge, scruffy brown mutt, who ran straight at her with exuberance.
“Pickle,” Knox said calmly behind her, and the dog scrambled to a stop, sitting politely in front of Alice, tail swishing back and forth on the floor, a wide smile on his face.
She melted. It was her heart, it beat for animals. Her heart was as stupid as her feet.
“Meet Pickle,” Knox said. “When I rescued him, he went by Tiny, but for obvious reasons the name didn’t stick.”
Alice looked the dog over, a good hundred pounds past “tiny,” and let out a choked laugh.
Pickle tilted his head back and “woo wooed” at the ceiling.
“He’s sensitive about his size.” Knox ruffled the top of his head fondly. “When I first got him, he was skinny and sick and, well, tiny. Good thing he loves food. Oh, and if you’re ever eating a pickle, be prepared to share. He lives for them.”
Alice absolutely refused to be moved that he’d rescued a dog.
“Oh my God.” Lauren stopped in the doorway behind Alice and gasped dramatically. “Tell me that’s not a dog. Tell me it’s a bear or something.”
“Okay, he’s a bear,” Knox said. “Or something.”
Lauren sneezed and backed up, right into the wall while pointing at Pickle. “That’s a dog!”
They all looked at the oversize scruffy fur ball.
“I mean, it’s kinda hard to tell the difference, isn’t it?” Alice asked.
Pickle gently headbutted Knox’s hand, asking for love. Knox obligingly bent down to hug him, and Pickle licked his face in thanks.
Lauren, looking like she was afraid she’d be next, tried to back up some more, but she was already against the wall.
“He’s harmless,” Knox assured her. “I rescued him from Puerto Rico last year on a job site. He’d have ended up on death row.”
“Okay, that’s very sweet,” Lauren said. “But maybe he could wait in the car, since I’m deathly allergic.”
“It’s a phobia,” Alice said. “A well-founded one, but it’s definitely not an allergy.”
Lauren gave her a keep-talking-and-die look. “I’m allergic.” And then, as if to prove it, she sneezed three times in a row.
“I hear if you do that seven times, it’s as good as an orgasm,” Alice said.
Lauren narrowed her eyes, but before she could respond, Knox spoke. “I had him tested for breed. He’s a Samoyed, and Samoyeds are hypoallergenic.”
“Wuff!” Pickle said, clearly proud of himself.
Lauren tried to back up some more, but a wall was . . . well, a wall. “If he’s hypoallergenic, why am I still sneezing?”
“Because you got bit by your dad’s evil girlfriend’s dog when you were ten,” Alice said. “I’d be afraid too.”
“I’m not afraid!”
Knox stepped between Lauren and Pickle. “I promise, you’re safe with Pickle. He’s never bitten anyone. He can be shy, but that’s because he’s a rescue. He’s actually drawn to shy people.”
“I’m not shy. Nor am I scared of dogs.”
Alice raised a brow and nudged her chin in the direction of Lauren’s hands. Which were now gripping Alice’s arm tight.
“Whatever,” Lauren said, jerking her hands off Alice. “I’m a grown woman. And I’m not scared of dogs!”
Uh-huh. And the tooth fairy was real. Alice dropped to her knees and opened her arms. Pickle walked right into them, nuzzled his face at her neck, and she promptly died and went to heaven. “Oh, look at you,” she murmured. “So handsome. So sweet.”
“Okay, all of that, but he’s not going to stay, right?” Lauren asked, her voice registering at least three octaves higher than normal.
Alice wouldn’t mind if Pickle stayed, but hoped Knox would go, for no reason other than just looking at him reminded her of a time she didn’t want to think about.
Knox patted his leg, and Pickle immediately deserted Alice for his numero uno. Both man and dog turned to the door. “You going to leave?” Alice asked hopefully. “What a shame. A terrible, horrible, no-good shame.”
Knox gave her a long, unreadable look. “I’m putting Pickle in my truck and coming right back. But nice to know where you stand.”
Chapter 2
Alice’s To-do List
Put gas in Stella so you’re prepared for a quick getaway.
As Knox and Pickle shut the door behind them, Alice realized she was staring out the window at them, right along with Lauren.
Who sneezed again.
“They’re gone,” Alice said dryly. “You can stop with the fake sneezes.”
Lauren sniffed. “Maybe I’m getting a cold.”
Shaking her head, Alice forced herself to turn from the window and look around. Memories bombarded her, along with the heavy weight of all the emotions that came with them.
The inn had been made infamous by two TV shows. First was the early 1960s Wild West TV show Last Chance Inn, a depiction of life on the range in the 1800s, hence the old sets leaning against the barn. The second show, Last Chance Racing, had been a late-1970s reality show before that was even a thing. The long, private road up to the inn had been used for filming what had been—and still was in most states—illegal street racing. They’d used the barn to store the cars.
Back in the day, the property had been a hugely popular tourist stop until the inn had closed a few decades ago. Now it had a run-down, neglected look to it that hurt Alice’s heart.
Six months ago, Netflix had started streaming the original Last Chance Inn, bringing in a whole new generation of fans.
As a direct result, a restoration of the inn had been in the making, planned by Eleanor Graham, star of the original Last Chance Inn and owner of the property. She’d had a general contractor ready to sign on the dotted line and, with high hopes, had advertised a grand opening a month from now.
But then the grand dame had died, and all plans of renovations had been abandoned. The general contractor had moved on to another job, leaving everything in flux until Eleanor’s inheritors decided what to do.
A genuine descendant from an infamous Wild West outlaw, Eleanor had grown up on this property too. Self-assured, never wanting to rely on a man in an era when that hadn’t been a thing, she’d never married or had children of her own. The inn had been her baby.
As a result, her stamp was everywhere. She’d believed in history and had picked decor that made you believe you were walking into the wild, Wild West. It hadn’t been hard; the property had been in her family for generations. The front room was centered around a huge stone fireplace. The walls
were beadboard—wood fiber and resin melded together, a common wood wall paneling in the late 1800s—with old lanterns hung for lighting. The ceiling was wood with rustic beams, the furnishings reupholstered antiques. Taken together with the old leather-bound books packed in the bookshelves and the hand-painted china replicas, the throw blankets on the couches in front of the fireplace, it all made quite the picture.
But unlike in the glory days, everything was covered in dust and stacks of unread mail and newspapers. Nothing to suggest any renovation work had actually begun. Only, Eleanor had hated dust and junk, so Alice took it all in with a heavy heart. What had Eleanor’s last few years been like that she’d let go of her obsessive need for perfection?
Knox had built a fire in the huge stone fireplace, but the room was still frigid, telling her he hadn’t been here long. She actually had no idea where he’d even come here from. Lauren had never left Sunrise Cove, a fact Alice knew only because she’d somehow gotten on the subscriber list for Sunrise Cove’s newsletter. She’d tried to send it to spam a bunch of times, but it kept faithfully showing up in her email box on the first of every month.
Written by Lauren Scott, town historian and librarian.
Knox returned sans Pickle, and the three of them stood there, looking at each other. Lauren was outwardly distraught, Alice doing her best to hide her feelings, even though she’d never been any good at it, and then there was Knox, blank faced, emotions locked up tighter than . . . well, Fort Knox.
“We should talk,” Lauren said softly. “About what we should do.” She pushed off her hood and unzipped her jacket, still wearing more pink than Alice had ever seen in one place.
“What’s to talk about?” Alice asked. “Obviously we sell, ASAP.” She’d let her boss know she might need a month off, but the thought of staying with Lauren and Knox for that long had her sweating in some uncomfortable places.
When neither of her coinheritors said anything, an uneasiness settled in her gut to go along with the rising panic. “Selling is the only logical choice.”
Lauren shook her head. “You can see that the renovations never got started. We’ve got the big opening coming up, we can’t just sell.”
“I agree with Pink,” Knox said.
Pink, aka Lauren, beamed at him.
“If this is all about Eleanor,” Alice said with what she hoped was a reasonable, agree-with-me tone, “she made her mark a long time ago. She has nothing left to prove, and neither do we. There’s no reason for us to reopen, when the only person it meant something to is gone.”
“Not true,” Lauren said. “There’s been a lot of press, and the fans of the shows are super excited. And if this is, as you’ve said, all about Eleanor . . .” She actually used air quotes for the all about Eleanor part. “Well, then we should do this in her honor. Carry on with her wishes and reopen the inn.”
“Again, I agree.”
At Knox’s low, quiet voice, Alice turned her head to stare at him.
“Eleanor gave me my first job,” he said.
She held his steely gaze with difficulty, because same, and at the reminder of all Eleanor had done for her, her heart ached.
“She took care of a lot of people,” he continued. “And the town, providing revenue and employment to hundreds over the years.”
Alice turned her head and looked out the window, pretending that she was anywhere but here. Maybe on a deserted South Pacific island . . .
Then she realized the room was silent and both Knox and Lauren were staring at her. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t hear the question, but the answer is chocolate.”
Knox shook his head, clearly annoyed.
“I don’t know if either of you know,” Alice said, “but the place is a hot mess. Which means it’s our hot mess. To open in a month, it would take the three of us working day and night to pull off, and even then, it might not be possible. Do you really want to put your own lives on hold for the next four weeks and be on top of each other?” She looked at Lauren, who had zero emotional ties to Eleanor for a bunch of very complicated reasons.
Lauren was looking around her, taking in the sights, making Alice remember she’d never been inside the inn. “There’s a lot of history here,” she murmured.
And as Alice well knew, Lauren loved history. The irony didn’t escape her, that Lauren, Eleanor’s grandniece, loved history as much as Eleanor had.
“Nearly one hundred and fifty years of history,” Knox said. “And as for leaving or staying, I’d do anything for Eleanor, dead or alive.” He said this in the same quiet, husky tone he might have said it’s still snowing, which perversely made Alice want to see him lose his temper. But if he was anything like the younger Knox, he wouldn’t. He didn’t shy away from a problem, instead always facing it head-on. He’d certainly weathered enough of them in his life, same as she had.
But where she was a storm in her own right, always a swirling mass of tangled, wild emotions, he was the calm eye of any storm that came his way. “And our personal lives?” she asked, hoping she was the only one who could hear her desperation. “Are we supposed to give those up?”
Knox shrugged. “I run a general contracting company. I’ve got business partners who can hold down the fort while I work from here, handling both my business and finishing Eleanor’s dream for her.”
Okay, so Alice was reluctantly impressed in spite of herself. The summer after he’d graduated high school, his mom had died, and he’d left town. She’d never seen him again. Clearly, he’d come a long way. But . . . “I don’t have the luxury of staying for emotional closure.”
“Okay,” Knox said. “If there’s no emotional appeal for you, then how about monetary. The architecture of this structure is
amazing. The moldings and baseboards alone are worth a fortune. The inn is shored up with redwood beams, also original. They don’t make ’em like this anymore. With a little TLC, this place would be worth a lot of money, not to mention the barn full of muscle and antique cars, and the nostalgia of the show sets. A renovation is in our best interests.”
Alice hadn’t heard much past “if there’s no emotional appeal for you . . .” Because was he kidding? There was nothing but emotional appeal here for her. In fact, her chest was so tight at the ball of emotions sitting on it that she could scarcely breathe. She’d taught herself how to stay calm, but to do that, she needed to get into her backpack and pull out the scarf she was knitting. She sucked at knitting, sucked bad, but the craft was the only thing that seemed to quiet her brain. Well, okay, so that wasn’t strictly true. Food also calmed her brain, but she didn’t have any at the moment.
So . . . the three of them staying for the next month? The thought nearly caused a full-blown panic attack, and she’d finally given those up. “And how about you?” she asked Lauren. “You can just walk away from your career at the library? Because I sure can’t.”
“I’m sorry, your career is what again? Last I heard, you were a nanny in Santa Fe.”
“That didn’t work out.” Nor had waitressing, bartending, or landscaping, but that wasn’t important now. “I work in a lumberyard in Flagstaff.”
“Ah.” Lauren nodded. “So much upward mobility there.”
Ignore the ’tude. You deserve the ’tude. “I like it,” Alice said. Wood didn’t need looking after, it didn’t have feelings or expectations. It just needed to be moved from point A to point B. The end.
“What are you doing wasting your talents in a lumberyard anyway?” Lauren asked. “Why aren’t you restoring cars, which you were born to do. Literally.”
Alice was actually almost content at the lumberyard. The guys had all become her friends; Miguel and Steven, and especially Eddie, who often worked construction on the side and had taught her enough that she sometimes worked with him on those extra jobs when she needed money. They were all so good to her. It was the closest she’d come to belonging anywhere since she’d left Sunrise Cove.
They hadn’t wanted her to leave but had understood. They’d extracted the promise that she’d be back when she finished here, which had warmed a teeny tiny corner of her cold dead heart. Because of that alone, she intended to fulfill her promise and get out of here ASAP. She met Lauren’s gaze. “I find it ironic you want to commit to helping fix this place up, since you recently hired someone to plant flowers for your patio so you wouldn’t get dirty.”
Lauren pointed at Alice with a pleased gleam in her eyes. “You stalk my IG.”
Alice grimaced. Stupid, rookie move.
Lauren grinned but it faded quickly. “And no,” she said. “I can’t give up my job at the library, but I’ll have plenty of time
For instance, people are going to love coming out to see those old TV sets. We just have to set them up in a safe and manageable way.”
Okay, all of that would be valuable, Alice could admit. “Great for you two. You can fix up the inn and keep your jobs. But I can’t. You guys can buy me out.”
“Yeah, what part of small-town librarian are you missing?” Lauren asked with a rough laugh. “I’m a dollar over the poverty line at all times. Besides, one of us leaving isn’t what Eleanor wanted. I assume that’s why she set things up so that the money in the inn’s accounts is dedicated to the inn only, ...
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
