Читать книгу Christmas At Prescott Inn - Cathryn Parry - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

CHRISTMAS ARRIVED AT Prescott Inn the day after Thanksgiving.

Nathan Prescott stepped into the lobby just in time to see two workers erecting a large blue spruce tree. The sharp smell of pine needles wafted to his nose. The annoyingly upbeat jingle of seasonal music—Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”—met his ears.

Nathan frowned. He didn’t mind if Christmas never came this year.

The inn’s rooms weren’t filling up. Expenses were excessive. He was worried about his investors’ meeting tomorrow and what they would decide. They’d already threatened once to shut down his line of credit.

Nothing could be worse than that.

Gloom descended over his heart.

“A cup of warm spiced cider, Mr. Prescott?” His front desk clerk held out a mug that steamed with the scent of apple and cinnamon. She gave him a tentative smile.

Nathan just shook his head and continued walking toward his office.

As he strode past the stone fireplace, the commotion of tree-decorating and decking-the-halls continued around him unabated. He scowled as a worker brought in a crate of red poinsettia plants.

More money spent—expenses his investors expected him to be cutting. But as he opened his mouth to refuse the delivery, a movement behind the lobby couch caught his eye.

Nathan paused. A dark-haired boy, about six or seven years old, popped up his head. A look of terror appeared in his hazel eyes.

He recognized the boy as one of the kids from the homeless shelter. During the winter months, Nathan housed some families with young children from the shelter. This particular boy had moved in with his mother the week before Thanksgiving. His mother never seemed to be around—working, Nathan supposed. He’d noticed the boy because he always seemed interested in what was happening around the inn.

As I was at his age, Nathan thought.

Nathan should have kept walking. But the small portrait of his grandfather, Philip Prescott, seemed to wink down at him and ask him to stay.

The boy flushed and pointed to a round, red Christmas ornament. “It fell down,” he stammered to Nathan, retrieving the delicate antique and carefully placing its metal hook around a sturdy branch of the spruce tree, cut down from a forest on the mountain. Both Nathan and the boy stared at the partially decorated tree. It still needed lights. And a star for the top, but the decorators would get to that.

Nathan balled his fists in his pocket. The kid seemed so lonely, always hanging around by himself and watching whatever activity was going on in the lobby. “You like Christmas?” Nathan asked gruffly.

The boy dipped his head, but he nodded. There was a short silence between them.

“Well...” Nathan wasn’t great with kids. And he was usually so busy doing the best he could for his employees and for the shelter families, which to his mind meant putting a roof over their heads and food on the table.

“Where are the stockings?” the boy suddenly asked. He stared directly at Nathan.

“Ah...”

The boy glanced at the stone fireplace, the centerpiece of the inn’s lobby. “The stockings,” he repeated. “For Santa Claus.”

Nathan’s heart sank. The boy still believed in Santa. He was so young. Nathan couldn’t bear to see the kid’s heart get crushed with the truth. “Well, those don’t go up until Christmas Eve.” Nathan coughed, remembering his own childhood here, and added, “That’s the tradition at Prescott Inn.” He nodded to his grandfather’s portrait.

The boy chewed his lip, looking thoughtful. “Is there an extra one I can borrow?” he asked in a small voice. “We didn’t bring our Christmas things with us.”

Nathan’s heart was in his throat. He waited for more from the boy, but he just gazed at Nathan with his huge brown eyes.

The boy’s situation reminded Nathan so much of his own childhood—of himself and his sister as children—left alone by their parents and living here in Prescott Inn, which was still owned in those days by their grandfather. Nathan’s grandfather had been the person who’d given them stability. A place to set down roots. A refuge amid all the confusion.

“I’ll get you a stocking,” Nathan promised. “With your name on it.”

“Jason,” the boy said.

Nathan nodded. “Jason,” he repeated.

Jason smiled and then darted over to the crate of multicolored ornaments. Nathan realized that they’d made a deal, the two of them. And now he had to honor it.

More cuts. I can think of more cuts to make. More ways to slash the budget and increase revenue for the holiday season.

Head down, Nathan changed course away from his office and descended the stairs that led to the newly designed breakfast lounge. Yes, they’d paid entirely too much money for this renovation, but that was water under the bridge. Right now, the important thing was to prepare an action plan for tomorrow’s meeting.

Nathan pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen. One of the waitresses jerked her head up and glanced at him with a worried expression.

“Have you seen Nell?” he asked. Nell was his marketing manager. Actually, she was his niece. Just a dozen years his junior—Nathan’s sister, his only sibling, was eight years older than Nathan—Nell was fresh out of college. But she was the best he could afford for the inn on a shoestring budget. And he had an important job that he needed Nell to do.

“No, sir. I haven’t seen her.” The waitress smiled wanly at him and nodded before hurrying off.

Nathan glanced around at the empty dining room and buffet area.

The chef wasn’t at his station. Neither was the under-chef.

Nell, who usually met him each morning to sit down and review the front desk reports, wasn’t present, either.

“Hello!” he called out. He had a right to be upset. Was he the only one concerned about keeping the inn up and running?

Two years ago, it had been a miracle when he’d managed to assemble a group of investors to buy the sprawling resort complex at auction. The previous owner had bought it from Nathan’s father after he’d squandered his inheritance. Between the two of them, they’d run the place into the ground.

Prescott was Nathan’s family name. Prescott Inn had been started by his grandfather. Nathan had a lot of work ahead to bring it back to the stable business that it was in his grandfather’s day. But first he had to keep it open through Christmas.

“Hello?” he called once more.

No one answered him.

Was something wrong?

Cocking his ear, he pushed open the kitchen door and heard the telltale sound of a television news show coming from the direction of the bar. Following the trail, Nathan headed past the near-empty breakfast lounge and walked into the bar alcove beside the lower-level portion of the great stone fireplace. There was a slight chill in late November, but he’d told the staff to wait before ordering the wood for the fireplace, as the price of wood was astronomical.

There was his kitchen staff, standing around the wall-mounted television set intended for guests. The morning chef, the morning under-chef, and one of his waitresses.

And Nell.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“Oh!” Nell started. The two chefs in their clogs and white uniforms cast their eyes down sheepishly and quickly headed back toward the kitchen.

“Look what’s happened, Uncle Nathan,” Nell said, pointing at the television. “It’s a real disaster!”

“No, this is the disaster.” Nathan crossed his arms. “Our inn. By the way, how is your marketing assignment going? It’s almost Christmas and we have to figure out how to fill the rooms for the holiday. The investors are going to ask me tomorrow for specifics, and I want to give them some results from the plan we discussed.”

Nell stared at him as if not comprehending. Then she turned back to the television. “Didn’t you work on a cruise ship once, Uncle?”

“A... Why?” Blinking, Nathan followed her gaze. On the television screen, he saw what appeared to be a bird’s-eye view of a large ship lying tilted at an angle—half sunk—in a postcard-perfect, azure-blue sea.

He blinked in disbelief. “Is that a cruise ship?”

“Yes, it is. Last night it hit a reef in the Caribbean and flooded. They had to evacuate almost eight thousand people in the darkness. Can you imagine? It’s horrible. All those people facing that trauma.”

Emilie! Does she still work on a cruise ship?

He swallowed, staring at the television screen. Nothing seemed to be happening now, from what he could see. “Is everyone safely off?”

Nell tilted her head at him. “They think so, but they’re not sure. What was the name of the ship you were on, Uncle? You were on one for several months, right?”

Yes, he’d been a staff accountant on the Empress Caribbean. But it had been longer than several months—just over a year. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured. He’d left that job two Christmases ago, when he’d bought Prescott Inn. He rarely spoke of his onboard experience to anyone.

“What ship is that?” he asked Nell, gesturing toward the television. He squinted at the screen, but the shot from the news station’s helicopter was too far away for him to see the name on the side. But the red-and-blue logo looked awfully familiar.

“Um, they said it’s the Empress Caribbean. What’s wrong?” Nell blinked and then stepped toward him. He must have gone pale. He certainly felt light-headed. “Oh, Uncle. Is that where you worked? The Empress Caribbean?”

He dragged in a breath, not wanting to answer her.

He swallowed instead, staring at the television screen. What if Emilie still works on board? Fear coursed through his blood.

A Coast Guard ship was parked near the vessel. His mind flashed back to the safety drills he’d practiced with the crew and passengers. One per week. Nathan hadn’t technically been part of the crew—his job had been to prepare a report on how the company could cut onboard costs. Ironic, considering the situation he found himself in now.

A newscaster in the background droned on about the specifications of the ship. Year launched, tonnage, number of crew, passenger capacity. Nathan could have recited all that himself.

“When will they know if everyone got off all right?” he asked Nell.

“They didn’t say.” Nell stared at him in curiosity. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” His stomach felt as if it was turning inside out as he took out his phone to check his messages.

Nothing. No calls or texts.

Emilie’s contact number was still in his phone, but she hadn’t called him. She’d never called him in the two years since he’d left the ship. He didn’t even know why he kept her name in his phone.

She’d left him, and it had been years since he’d last seen her. Ironically, again, she’d accused him of choosing the inn over her.

She’d been wrong. And it had hurt.

He swallowed, not wanting to think about those days. There was no reason to expect she would ever call him again, even in an emergency. He needed to focus on his inn’s survival, which should be his top concern.

“Uncle,” Nell said gently. “They’re reporting that, so far, there are no major casualties.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any friends there?”

He stiffened. He’d purposely never spoken of the year he’d spent at sea as an accountant—never mind the show skater he’d fallen in love with and had wanted to marry.

It had been insanity on his part, and he was no longer insane.

Two curious faces stared back at him—Nell’s and the waitress’s. Nathan just shook his head at them. “No. That wasn’t my ship.”

Still, he was irritated with himself for opening this can of worms with his staff in the first place. Wishing to deflect any further questions, he asked sharply, “Nell, I’d like that update on the competitive analysis of other resorts I asked for. How far have you progressed?”

“Um...” Nell said. “About that...”

“Please take more initiative,” he instructed her, disliking that he was speaking so brusquely. But since Nell had no information for him, he would have to fudge those details at tomorrow’s investors’ meeting. “You and I will discuss this further tomorrow after my meeting. Clear?”

Nell visibly sighed at him. But she nodded.

A pang went through him. She looked so much like his sister. He wanted to be good to her, but he was helping her the only way he knew how. He’d reopened Prescott Inn and had given her a job when she hadn’t any prospects.

That was how he could help people. Through business. Nathan took care of business.

Even if he didn’t seem to be doing such a great job of it at the moment.

Without a word, he turned and walked back through the empty dining room and toward his private office, which was on the second floor of the lodge, overlooking the lobby.

Usually, numbers were his friends. But of late, they didn’t have anything positive to say to him. He knew before he even checked them what tale they would tell.

His business was in the red. It was bleeding money. And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t seem to stanch it.

I can’t fail, he reminded himself, the sweat breaking out on his forehead even though the room was still cold.

He put his head in his hands as his mind flashed backed to the kid. Jason.

Nathan might not be able to give him long-term security, but if Nathan could just keep the inn open long enough to provide refuge for the boy through Christmas, then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he had failed.

He’d been so proud when Prescott Inn had first reopened. The local newspaper had compared Nathan to his grandfather, Philip Prescott, and touted the renewed hope Nathan was bringing to their depressed mountain town. Nathan had believed he could do that. After all, he’d had a successful career advising companies on how to cut costs and balance their books.

Now Nathan had to live up to the promises he’d given everyone two years ago. He had to figure out a story to sell to his investors to keep the money coming in, and before tomorrow’s meeting, in order to turn this disaster around.

As for Emilie...well, he shouldn’t worry about her. He had no reason to believe that she still sailed aboard the Empress Caribbean. She could have left that job and gone anywhere.

She wouldn’t be thinking of him, that was for certain. She’d made that much clear the last time they had spoken.