Page 10 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Grace ignored the sudden warmth flooding her cheeks, blaming it entirely on the rum.

Before she could decide whether she wanted to throttle him or pour herself another drink, her tattooed firefighter friend Jake, trouble sparking in his dark eyes, appeared. He put his hand out. “Jake Martinez, Solace Springs’ fire chief. I heard you’ve been set some harvest challenges by Abe Blackwell?”

“Sure have,” Reese said, smiling as he shook Jake’s hand. “And it’s Lord Spencer, not Lord Deeppockets. What exactly are we talking about?”

Abe and Margaret appeared then, Abe fixing Reese with the kind of stare that had probably terrified junior officers for decades. “You still want my inn, boy?”

“Still keen to talk terms, sir,” Reese said.

Sir. Per-lease.

“Terms.” Abe’s laugh was sharp. “I’ll give you terms. You prove yourself tonight—show this town you’re worth a damn—and we’ll talk business. Fall flat on your face like most of you city types, and you can take your fancy offer and shove it.”

The crowd was gathering now, drawn by the promise of entertainment and the rare sight of an outsider being put through the wringer.

Grace could feel the energy building and something inside her just…snapped. Maybe it was the rum. Maybe it was watching this stranger waltz in and charm his way toward her dream. Maybe it was all these years of being the good daughter, the reliable one, the person who smiled and served and never made waves.

“I want to take part too!”

The words were out before she could stop them, cutting through the crowd noise like a blade. It felt like every head turned toward her, including her mother’s horrified stare…Reese’s gaze, too, a small, intrigued smile spreading over his handsome face.

Grace stepped out from behind the stall, heart hammering but voice steady. “If we’re proving who deserves that inn, then I want to prove it too.” She turned to Abe and Margaret. “I–I want to buy the Maple Inn, and I’m not letting some rich outsider take it without a fight.”

Abe’s weathered face split into something that might have been a grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real competition.”

Four

Reese

Reese watched Grace step out from behind the stall, chin raised like she was ready to take on the world. Made sense now, her trying so hard to talk him out of buying the inn. Haunted inn, my ass. She wanted it herself. Question was, how could a café server afford a property like that? But then, who was he to assume what people could or couldn’t manage? He’d learned that folks found ways to make things happen when they wanted them badly enough.

Still, he remembered Mabel talking about Grace taking over the family business. Clearly Grace hadn’t shared her plans with everyone. Mabel’s reaction confirmed it. The woman went pale as old snow, staring at her daughter like she’d just announced she was joining the circus.

“Grace Elizabeth, what in the world—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Grace said quickly. “I just…I just haven’t found a moment.”

“How in the hell are you going to pay for it?” Mabel’s voice climbed about two octaves. “Do you have any idea what that property costs?”

“I’ve been saving for years. And I’ve got my loan application just about ready.”

Grace’s jaw set in that stubborn line Reese was starting to recognize. Starting to enjoy too, in more physical ways judging from how uncomfortable his pants were suddenly getting. “I need to do this, Mom,” Grace continued. “I need something that’s mine, not just something I inherited because I was the only one left to inherit it.”

That hit home harder than it should have. Reese knew something about needing to prove yourself, about building something from scratch instead of just taking what was handed to you. Grace turned toward him then, blue eyes bright with challenge. She looked like she was ready to arm-wrestle a bear for that inn. “So,” she said, “you ready?”

Reese’s competitive instincts went into overdrive. The harder the problem, the more it interested him. And right now, the pink-haired woman standing before him was looking like the most interesting problem he’d encountered in years.

“Always ready,” he said.

“All right then,” Jake called out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get this show started. First up, logrolling. Last person standing wins.”

Reese strode beside Grace as the crowd started moving toward the water.

“You done this before, eh?” he asked.

“Every summer since I was twelve. You?”

“Once or twice.” He’d actually spent a month working with a logging crew in northern Manitoba during his early twenties, back when he was still figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. They’d messed about with logrolling during breaks. But Grace didn’t need to know that. He’d learned it was best to surprise your opponents.