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The clock tower chimed five times, and I turned toward the sound, glimpsing the structure’s octagonal turret. “What a charming building, especially its pink stonework.”
“The material is rhyolite tuff, a local volcanic stone.” He turned onto a driveway. “Here we are—Summer Swallows Hotel, also constructed with tuff.”
The two-story, pink-stone inn sported wide porticoes with white railings on both levels. A heart-shaped wreath adorned the front door.
“It’s so welcoming.” As I stepped from the truck, the Texas Historical Commission plaque caught my gaze. “This place was built in 1880?”
“Some folks say Quanah Parker stayed here.”
“In this hotel…?” I glanced at the structure, reevaluating the events that had led me here. Then Luke caught my gaze. If I hadn’t had the accident, would we have met?
“And if you want to explore local history, the library’s only a few steps away.” He pointed to a limestone building across the drive.
“Talk about convenient…” For the first time in five years, my time’s my own. And with no orders or assignments to interrupt, I can research to my heart’s content. A vague sense of mission began to gel.
“Let me grab your bags from the back.”
“I’ve got ’em—”
“Too late.” His arms weighed down with my luggage, he laughed. “Why don’t you get that box?”
“Thanks.” Knowing the bags’ weight, I breathed a sigh, grateful for someone to share the load. It’s been a while…
I lifted the box of journals, recalling the past five years’ self-reliance, and my grandmother’s adage echoed through my mind: “If you constantly have to prove yourself, you’ve forgotten your value.” My arms full, I struggled with the doorknob.
But Luke propped open the door with his leg, in addition to carrying my luggage.
“Chivalry’s not dead.” Impressed, I rewarded him with a bashful smile.
“Ma’am.” Speaking in an exaggerated cowboy drawl, he pretended to tip his hat.
Inside, the open fireplace welcomed me with the tangy scent of mesquite. Its cozy dry heat shook off the early evening’s chill as it embraced me.
Painted a cheery yellow and white, the old-fashioned wainscoted hall with its ten-foot, tin ceiling offset the front desk’s dark wood. Sturdy antique furniture graced the lobby, and a winding stairway rose to the second floor.
“Mamie”—Luke called from behind me—“have you got a room for family?”
The gray-haired woman greeted us with a cordial smile. “Sure do for any family of yours.”
“I’d like you to meet my long-lost cousin, Maeve.” He set down my bags. “This is Mamie, the unofficial town historian if you need help researching family genealogy.”
“Glad to meet you.” I set the box on the desktop and held out my hand.
“Let me know if you have any questions. Always glad to help.” Mamie grasped my hand in a firm shake. “How long are you staying?”
I glanced at Luke before answering. “Depends on what Smitty finds and how soon the parts are delivered, but at least three nights.”
“Car trouble?”
“More like javelina and ice trouble.” I snickered, annoyed by the accident.
“The longer your stay, the better.” Mamie passed a key to Luke. “Why don’t you put your cousin’s luggage across the hall in room 117, while I check her in?”
As I finished registering, Luke returned with the key. “I have to drop off the masa, but—”
“Oh, sorry to keep you so long.” Reluctant to say goodbye yet resigned, I muffled a groan. “Thanks again for your help. I’m so glad we met.”
“Actually”—wearing a silly grin, he rubbed his chin—“I was going to ask what you’re doing for dinner. Figured I’d drop off the masa and get back about the same time you’ve settled in your room.”
