Behind Closed Doors. Debbi Rawlins
obviously holding the receiver away to speak to a customer. Probably wasn’t even listening to her. “Now, what’s that you were saying?”
Beth sighed. What was the point? Complaining wouldn’t get him to move any quicker. Montana was beautiful this far north, but a bit isolated. If the hardware store’s next delivery wasn’t until the end of the week, there was nothing she could do about it. “Fine. Friday. If anything changes, please let me know.”
“You betcha.” His dentures clacked. “Have yourself a fine day.”
Beth calmly disconnected the call, then dropped the phone on her makeshift plywood desk. That was the trouble with cell phones. You couldn’t slam them. Pushing her fingers through her tangled hair, she winced at the tugs on her scalp. God, she used to be so good at getting people to do what she wanted.
Not here, though. Not in Blackfoot Falls.
She could run naked down Main Street and maybe make the headline of the Salina Gazette. Oh, she’d be juicy gossip fodder for weeks and have to suffer indignant glares from the women shopping at the Food Mart. But that would be it. The boardinghouse renovation would still be behind schedule, with workers not showing up, her lumber and other supply orders hijacked...
Maybe she was looking at the getting-naked angle all wrong. Maybe if she streaked through town she’d receive her shipments on time and workers would be lining up. But only if the men liked what they saw. She glanced down at her tummy. She’d been born and raised in Billings, Montana. And since returning to her home state she’d enjoyed homemade comfort food a little too much. In a fair world, stress would be eating away the extra pounds she’d gained. But no...her jeans had gotten tight.
Yep, lumber and drywall might be in short supply, but stress she had in abundance. Between her flaky sister and rebellious niece—for whom she’d moved to Blackfoot Falls—and working like crazy to turn the early-1900s boardinghouse into an inn, she was ready to pop like a damn cork.
At first, reconnecting with her family had been great, everything she’d hoped it would be after receiving the subtle plea for help from her estranged sister. Right before the not-so-subtle SOS text from her fifteen-year-old niece. Beth had been working in Europe at the time but she’d quickly wrapped things up and left her corporate job behind to be the loving aunt who would completely fix things between mother and daughter. Not play referee in a game no one could win.
“Knock, knock.”
She looked up. Rachel McAllister stood in the open doorway. It was for her out-of-town wedding guests that Beth had promised to have the inn up and running by the first of February. No pressure.
“What brings you to the big city?” Beth jumped up to move the blueprints and notebooks off the spare folding chair.
“You don’t have to get up,” Rachel said as she entered the small room that Beth had sectioned off from the original kitchen. “I’m on my way to the market, but I figured I’d see if you had time for coffee.”
“Sure. I have a pretty decent Colombian blend if you want to stay here. I can even make espresso.” Beth gestured to the silver coffee station she’d ordered a day after she arrived and had one sip of Marge’s weak brew. “Or we can hit the diner.”
“Yeah, you like the really strong stuff. You must’ve gotten used to it while working in Europe.”
“I did, but I don’t mind going over to Marge’s either.”
“I wonder if she has any cinnamon rolls left,” Rachel murmured.
“Um, no.”
“You already checked?”
“I bought the last one.” Beth tugged at her snug waistband. “Don’t give me that look. I did you a favor.”
Rachel grinned. “You’re right. I need to fit into the wedding dress I ordered. Let’s stay here.”
Beth watched Rachel survey the stripped walls and the sizable holes left from heavy framed pictures that had hung for decades. She had to be worried about whether the place would be finished in time, but she didn’t ask.
Until Beth had moved to town, she hadn’t known Rachel.
Rachel’s family owned the Sundance ranch, where they raised cattle. Recently they had converted unused space into guest quarters. She’d done a hell of a job cashing in on the popularity of dude ranches. Her success had motivated Beth to buy the boardinghouse and make it into an inn with a bed-and-breakfast feel. As long as her sister and niece lived here, Beth wasn’t going anywhere, but she still needed something to do. Once she jumped the remodeling hurdle and got the place running, managing a small inn would suit her perfectly.
“Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the coffee and minifridge. “There’s milk and cream. Sugar and sweeteners are in the silver tin.”
“How’s the work coming?” Rachel grabbed a mug. “Did Mike Burnett give you a good bid for the finish carpentry?”
“He’s putting one together now.”
“I heard he’s reasonable, especially considering he’s the best carpenter around.” Rachel fixed her coffee, then sat on the folding chair. “It’s awfully quiet. Anyone working?”
Beth sighed. “The plumber’s supposed to be here after lunch. I’ll believe it when I see him. A lot of guys don’t show up...they don’t even call.”
“It’ll be better after hunting season,” Rachel said. “But you’re from Montana, so you know that.”
“Actually, I’d forgotten how things slowed to a crawl this time of year. I’m glad you said something.” She thought about the two guys who’d sworn they’d report early tomorrow. They’d mentioned something about not having tags, which now made sense. Evidently their names hadn’t been drawn in the lottery designed to restrict the number of hunters for certain types of game.
“You were twenty when you left, right?”
Beth nodded. “It seems like a lifetime ago.” She and Rachel had grown up in the same state, but any similarity ended there. Rachel had had the life Beth had always wanted. A home in the country, horses, a loving family. Definitely not living in a dusty trailer park with no parental supervision to speak of and a sister who was trouble from the word go.
“So everything else is going okay?”
Beth leaned back with a snort. And then it registered. “Hey...you probably know him....” She straightened. “Nathan—his last name starts with an L...”
“Landers?” Rachel frowned. “Nathan Landers? Sure, what about him?”
“Either Mr. Jorgenson got our orders mixed up or Landers got pushy so Jorgensen decided to give him the lumber I was supposed to have delivered today.”
“Hard to say. I don’t think Nathan’s the type to strong-arm anyone, but I really don’t know him very well. He has a big ranch east of here. I’ve seen his foreman in town, but not Nathan. Since he lost his wife, he mostly keeps to himself.”
A widower? Well, that was just peachy—here she was thinking about driving over to his place to find out just what was going on. It wasn’t as if she planned on being mean, but she didn’t want to come off as badgering some poor old man in mourning. “I swear his name sounds familiar, but I can’t think of any reason it should.”
“I can’t either. Technically he lives in the next county. Though Blackfoot Falls is closer to him than Twin Creeks.”
“You mean he doesn’t even use the hardware store in his own town?”
Rachel laughed. “I’m sure there’s another shipment arriving soon.”
“Not till Friday. And I have two guys who promised me they’d be here tomorrow.” Beth picked up a pen and drummed it on the plywood. “So, in your opinion, would it be worth it for me to have a little