Claiming The Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Harlen
mosaic pattern in the floor tile to the elegant chesterfield sofa and forty-two-inch flat-screen TV mounted above the white marble fireplace. Beyond the parlor was the bath, with more white marble, lots of glass and even an enormous crystal chandelier. There was a second fireplace in the bedroom, along with a king-size pediment poster bed flanked by matching end tables, a wide wardrobe and even a makeup vanity set.
“Well, it’s not the Dusty Boots Motel,” she remarked dryly when they’d made their way back down to the main level—and the solarium where he told her breakfast would be served.
Liam chuckled. “The idea was to give visitors to Haven another option.”
“I’d say you succeeded.”
The solarium had two sets of French doors that opened onto the deck, where additional bistro tables and chairs would be set up for guests to enjoy their breakfast in the warm weather.
“Did you have another space in mind for more formal, evening dining?”
He shook his head. “We’re limiting our service to breakfast-slash-brunch, with an afternoon wine and cheese in the library on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“I like the wine and cheese idea,” she said. “But if you’re not offering an evening meal, you’re missing out on the opportunity for guests to spend more of their money right here.”
“There are other places people can go for dinner,” he pointed out.
“There’s no place in town that offers an upscale dining experience. When my parents celebrated their fortieth anniversary last year, they drove all the way to Reno because they wanted candlelight and a wine list that wasn’t printed on the bottom of a laminated page below the kids’ menu.”
He smiled at that. “I can see your point, but I know nothing about the restaurant business.”
“Which is why you hire people who do,” she said.
“Like you?” he guessed.
She immediately shook her head. “No. That’s not my area of expertise. But Kyle Landry studied at the School of Artisan Food in England.”
“I’m sure his mother could have taught him everything he needed to know about making pizza.”
“Except that Kyle doesn’t want to make pizza. He wants to run his own kitchen in a real restaurant.”
Liam winced. “Don’t let Jo hear you say that.”
“His words, not mine,” Macy explained.
“Maybe that’s why he’s not working in her kitchen right now,” he suggested.
“Yeah, she’s not happy that Duke gave him a job. But Kyle’s not really happy, either, because Duke won’t even contemplate any changes to the menu. Kyle added chili-dusted pumpkin seeds to the coleslaw to give it a little bit of crunch and zing, and three customers sent it back. They grudgingly acknowledged that it was good but complained that it ‘didn’t taste right.’”
“People want what they want, and local people don’t want fancy food.”
But Macy disagreed. “They might not want fancy food in a familiar setting,” she allowed. “But a new restaurant would open up a world of new possibilities. Not to mention that a restaurant would create another revenue stream for your business.”
“Have you been talking to my grandmother?”
She laughed. “No, but I’m guessing she said the same thing.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “And maybe it is something to think about.”
“You might think about talking to Kyle, too” Macy suggested.
“I might,” he agreed.
* * *
She didn’t ask him about the job.
Macy figured there was a fine line between eager and pushy and she didn’t want to cross it. Besides, Liam had promised to make a decision by the end of the week, so she would hold on to her patience a while longer.
But by Friday afternoon, with another long and late shift at Diggers’ looming ahead, her patience was running out. She was grateful that she had a job, but it was hard to keep a smile on her face when she was working on less than five hours of frequently interrupted sleep.
Her babies, now eight months old, had started sleeping a lot better, more consistently and—maybe even more important—concurrently, which allowed Macy to get more sleep. But the past couple of weeks had been rough as two of the three were cutting teeth. Two tiny buds had poked through Ava’s bottom gum almost a week earlier with minimal fuss, but her brothers were struggling and miserable.
And despite Macy’s optimism after she’d completed her tour of the Stagecoach Inn—and Liam Gilmore’s promise to be in touch by the end of the week—she still hadn’t heard anything from him about the job. So she left a little early for her shift at Diggers’ and stopped by the hotel on her way. There was no one in the main lobby when she arrived, so she peeked inside the library, but that was empty, too. She wandered a little further and finally found Liam in the kitchen, muttering to himself as he opened and inspected a stack of boxes on the island.
“Is this a bad time?” she asked.
He held up a dinner plate. “Does this look like white to you?”
“Only if tangerines are white,” she noted.
He set the plate on the counter and selected a bowl from another box. “How about this? Is this—” he glanced at the notation on what she guessed was an itemized list of his order “—dove?”
“Um, no. I’d say that’s lemon,” she said.
“And this?” He showed her a salad plate.
“Lime.”
“Great,” he said dryly. “I ordered tableware and they sent me fruit salad.” He held up a mug.
“I’m tempted to say blueberry.” She fought a smile. “But it’s actually closer to turquoise.”
He shook his head, obviously not amused.
“I’m guessing you got someone else’s order.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “An order that I’ve been waiting on for three months.”
She moved to the island and set the salad plate on top of the dinner plate, then the bowl in the center of the salad plate and the mug beside it. “I like it,” she decided.
He lifted a brow. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “White and grey are basic, boring. This tableware makes a statement that’s more reflective of what you’re doing with the distinctive décor in each of the guestrooms—providing your visitors with a unique experience.”
“I wanted basic and boring,” he said stubbornly.
“So you can send this back and find basic and boring tableware somewhere else, or you can keep this and negotiate a price reduction from the supplier.”
He looked dubious. “You really think I should keep it?”
“I do, but it’s not my decision to make. Unless that kind of thing falls under managerial duties,” she added hopefully.
“Someone once told me that a good employee is someone who steps up to do what needs to be done, even if it isn’t in her job description.”
“Touché.”
“And I’m guessing that’s why you’re here,” he realized.
“Well, you did say you’d make a decision by the end of the week, and it’s the end of the week.”
“So it is,” he agreed. “And there’s no doubt you’re the most qualified