.
“Do you want to go see where Miss Lindsay is going to get married? You can practice being her flower girl.”
Hannah was quiet for a second before her eyes lit up. “Do flower girls get cake?”
“They do—but not for breakfast.”
After heaving a sigh at the unfairness of that, Hannah nodded. “Okay.”
“All right then. Let’s go!”
“Wait, Miss Rory,” the girl demanded. “You hafta hold my hand.”
Hannah held out her left hand, her right already wrapped around her father’s. Rory hesitated even though she knew she was being ridiculous. In her short time at Hillcrest, she’d held more than her share of little and big girls’ hands leading up to a wedding. This was nothing different. But with Jamison on the other side, his daughter joining the two of them together, Rory felt a connection that went far beyond a professional capacity.
Something about the corporate lawyer, something in the shadows lingering in his silver eyes, grabbed hold of her. She’d been telling the truth when she said she’d become a jack-of-all-trades with a quick fix for prewedding emergencies. But she had to be careful. She’d be foolish to think she could step in and fix Jamison and his adorable daughter. Foolish to invest too much of herself when their time in Clearville was temporary. Foolish to think he’d want her to.
Though Rory didn’t want to be so in tune with the man just a child’s length away, she sensed the deep breath he exhaled as they stepped out into the cool morning air. Hannah bounced between them down the wraparound porch’s front steps, but it was Jamison who seemed to have released a negative energy bottled up far too long.
As they walked down the gravel path leading from the house, Rory couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. Even though she’d been back for almost three months, the sight of the Victorian mansion never failed to steal her breath.
She loved the history and old-fashioned elegance of the place. The way it brought to mind a simpler time. With its high peaks, glorious turrets and carved columns and balustrades, an air of romance surrounded the house and property.
Not that romance was anything Rory should be thinking of—at least not as her gaze met Jamison’s.
“Um, did you know Hillcrest House was built in the late 1800s? The original owner made his fortune decades earlier down in San Francisco during the gold rush. Not that he ever found gold, but he was one of the enterprising men who figured out the more practical side of gold fever. The thousands of men dreaming of striking it rich were going to need tools and equipment, and he was one of the first on the scene to set up shop.”
“Let me guess...at ridiculously inflated rates?” Jamison asked, the corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical smile that still managed to trip up Rory’s heartbeat.
“Oh, but he wasn’t just selling metal pans and shovels and pails... He was selling the miners the tools they needed to follow their dreams.” Catching the look of utter disbelief on Jamison’s face, Rory let out the laughter she’d been holding back. “Yeah, okay, even I can’t pull that one off. He robbed the poor suckers blind, selling on credit and then cashing in on their claims when they couldn’t pay him back.”
“So much for the romance of a time gone by.”
Rory started, feeling as if Jamison had read her thoughts moments earlier. “Well, uh, if it’s any consolation, karma did bite back, and he ended up losing his fortune—and Hillcrest House—when the stock market crashed.”
“Hmm, sounds like cosmic justice but, again, not very romantic.”
“Ah, but that’s when the house’s luck changed. After it stood empty for years, a wealthy industrialist from back east came to California and fell in love with a young woman. He bought Hillcrest as a wedding present for his bride. The story goes that their plan was to have a dozen or so kids—”
“A dozen?”
“At least,” Rory emphasized, smiling at the overwhelmed expression on his face as he glanced down at his lone child. “Sadly, they were unable to have children, but as time went on and more and more people were traveling to California and taking vacations along the coast, they decided to turn Hillcrest into a hotel so its rooms could still be filled with families and children and laughter—even if those families only stayed for a short time.”
The reminder was one Rory needed to focus on. Jamison and Hannah were only staying for a few weeks. She couldn’t allow herself to be drawn in on a personal level, to let herself start to care too much, too quickly. But with the little girl’s hand tucked so trustingly in hers as she sang under her breath, Rory couldn’t help wondering if it was already too late.
Hannah’s shy sweetness reminded Rory of a kitten she’d once rescued. The frightened Siamese had been all eyes in a skinny body covered with matted fur. It had taken time to build up enough trust for the kitten to allow her to pet it and even more time for the tiny bundle of fur to completely come out of its shell. To learn to run and play and chase. But Rory hadn’t given up, because even at the beginning, underneath all the wariness, she had sensed the playful kitten longing to come out.
And as much as the kitten had needed to be rescued, Rory had needed something to save. She couldn’t compare her experience as a child to what Hannah was facing in losing her mother so young, but Rory understood a little of what the girl was going through.
That beneath the sadness and loss, a silly, playful girl was struggling to break free.
“And what’s your family’s connection to the hotel?”
The summer breeze blew a lock of chestnut hair across Jamison’s forehead and let loose a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He was so good-looking, she forgot the question, forgot everything as she met his gaze over his daughter’s head.
“Rory.”
Heat flooded her cheeks as she tore her attention from the heat shimmering between them and back on what should have been her focus all along. “Right...my family’s connection to the hotel. Um, the couple owned the hotel for decades, but with no children to leave it to, they put it up for sale. My grandparents met at Hillcrest—”
“Another romantic story?”
“Exactly,” she answered, pleased with his guess despite the cynical tone of the question. “My grandmother was working the front desk and my grandfather was a guest here. Years later, when they heard the hotel was available, they bought it as an investment. They visited all the time but never lived here.
“My father and my uncle both worked here when they were younger, but the hotel and the hospitality industry were never their calling. Not like it was for my aunt Evelyn. Everyone knew she would run Hillcrest one day. She’s smart and strong and independent.”
Rory’s worry over her aunt’s health stung her eyes, but she blinked, banishing the tears before they could form. Her aunt wouldn’t appreciate Rory getting teary in front of a guest. Not even if that guest was ridiculously handsome with the kind of broad shoulders and strong arms where a woman would be tempted to find comfort.
“And you and your cousin are here helping out?”
That was the explanation she and Evie had been giving people. Their aunt kept a strict line drawn between her personal and professional life, and she didn’t want anyone outside of family to know of her health problems.
“Hillcrest House has always been a popular location for weddings with the locals in Clearville and Redfield,” Rory said, naming another nearby town, “but last year my aunt decided to expand Hillcrest as a wedding destination. The couples now have the choice of an all-inclusive ceremony, with the hotel handling everything from the cake to the music to the photographer.”
“And that’s where you come in.”
“I work with the couple to get a feel of the type of wedding they’re looking for and design all the elements to match that theme.”