Dream Big, Stella! Read online

Understanding crosses the old man’s weathered features. Brian is offering him a way to save face. “Right. I quit.”

  “Now, let’s go get your things.” With his hand still on Bernard’s shoulder, Brian walks him toward the barn.

  Once they’re gone, Opal rushes over to me. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  I can’t find my voice, so I nod. But then I shake my head as my eyes fill with tears. Once my body starts to tremble, it won’t stop. For the first time since leaving New York, I want to call my mommies.

  Opal places an arm around me and pulls me in for a hug. I’m tempted to give into my fears, to collapse against her and ball my eyes out, but I don’t want Brian to see me cry. I push away from her and move about in circles, shaking my limbs out and taking deep breaths until I’ve calmed down. “Okay. I’m better now. Sorry for the meltdown.”

  “Honey,” Opal says, cupping my cheek. “No need to apologize. What happened to you here was terrifying. Anyone would react the same way.”

  “I’m not anyone. There’s no telling what kind of crazies I’ll encounter when I’m managing the inn. I can’t afford to show weakness.”

  “You’re being entirely too hard on yourself, sweet girl.”

  Opal’s words hang in the air between us. Sweet girl. That’s exactly what I am. A girl. An inexperienced one, totally out of her league.

  When Brian motions me up to the barn, I wave a finger at him, signaling I’ll be there in a minute. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Opal.” I give her a quick hug.

  “Anytime. I’m going back to my painting. I’ll be down by the lake if you need me.”

  The police cruiser is driving off with Bernard in the back seat when I approach the barn. “Are they arresting him?” I ask Brian.

  “No. They’re taking him home. He’s too drunk to drive.” Brian turns his back on the retreating squad car and faces me. “I don’t have any reason to believe Bernard would try to hurt you. He’s a harmless, old curmudgeon. But I’ve taken the police up on their offer to periodically patrol the premises throughout the weekend. We had a night security guard until a few months ago. He moved to Florida to be closer to his aging mother. Naomi was working on finding a replacement. We’ll ask her where she is in the process.”

  “About Naomi . . . she left, and I’m not really sure why. I gave her the benefit of the doubt like you suggested. Yesterday afternoon, when I told her I’d decided, with your blessing, to close the inn for renovations, she said she couldn’t do this. When I asked her what this is, she refused to say. I told her to take a few days to think about it. But I haven’t heard anything from her today.”

  “She’s a bit of a hothead. She’s run off before, but she usually comes back. I’m not worried about Naomi, only in that I don’t want all the responsibility of the inn to fall on you.”

  “I’m figuring things out. I’ll let you know if I get in over my head. Thanks for backing me up just now with Bernard.”

  “You’re welcome. Firing him was the right thing to do.” Brian starts off toward the main building, and I step in line beside him. “I was on my way over, anyway. I hope you don’t mind if I sit in on your meeting with Jack Snyder.”

  “Not at all. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the project.”

  So, Brian doesn’t trust me to handle the renovations, after all. And I don’t blame him. I don’t trust me either.

  Eight

  Jack Snyder is waiting outside the locked front doors when Brian and I cut through the main building from the courtyard. I open the door for him, and we make our introductions in the entryway. He’s mid-thirtyish with tiny lines around his hazel eyes and a spattering of gray mixed with his dark beard stubble. I don’t usually go for older men, but I’m drawn to his rugged good looks. I’m glad to see he’s wearing a wedding band. Mixing business with pleasure already cost me one job.

  Jack studies me closely. “Wow. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  My face heats. “Do you really think so?”

  “You are 100 percent Billy Jameson’s daughter.”

  “I take it you knew my father,” I say.

  “When I was growing up, every kid in Hope Springs idolized Billy Jameson. My friends and I, aspiring to be the next Wild Hollers, took guitar and voice lessons. None of us were ever any good,” Jack says with a snicker. “I got to know Billy better in recent years. I priced out a few projects for him, but he never followed through on any of them. He just didn’t have it in him.”

  We talk about New York for a few minutes, and Jack tells me about the time he visited with his family as a boy.

  Brian, ready to get down to business, finally interrupts us. “I realize you’ve only been here a couple of days, Stella, and at the risk of putting you on the spot, I would appreciate your initial thoughts on the project.”

  He’s totally testing me. Time to sink or swim. Remember, speak with the voice of authority.

  “Certainly. I’ve been studying some of the albums I discovered in the library, and I have some ideas. As you know, the hotel was built in 1925. From what I can gather, minor renovations were made in the late forties with a more extensive remodeling in the early sixties. Since then, it appears as though changes have been made here and there without a cohesive plan.”

  Brian’s facial muscles relax. “Excellent observations. Go on.”

  “I’d prefer to wait until I’ve selected a decorator before I share my ideas for decor. I’m thinking upscale with a tendency toward swanky without compromising the overall traditional feel.”

  They nod in unison, and I can tell by their rapt expressions, I have their approval thus far.

  “Can we do a quick walk-through of the main floor? I’d like to tell you my thoughts about construction.”

  Brian nods and Snyder says, “Of course.”

  I lead them down the hall to the solarium. “Overall, this room appears to be in good shape. We need comfortable seating with a few tables scattered about, furniture we can easily adjust to accommodate various functions. I’m thinking Santa brunches for the locals and welcome parties for large groups of guests.”

  Snyder is taking notes on a legal pad, his pen flying across the paper while I talk.

  We move down the hall. “The library is peaceful and inviting with the fireplace and dark paneling while the adjacent room is so blah. Do we really need a conference room, Brian?” I ask, referring to the beige rectangle with the large conference table next door.

  “To the best of my knowledge, the room is hardly ever used,” Brian says.

  “What if we knock out this wall?” I knock on the wall that separates the library from the beige rectangle. “I understand there are certain restrictions on renovating historic properties. But if we could combine these two rooms, we would have enough space for a small bar and a pool table with a big screen TV over the fireplace for watching major sporting events.”

  “There are so many.” Brian ticks them off his fingers. “The Super Bowl. Masters Golf Tournament. The NCAA football and basketball championships. What do you think, Jack? Can it be done?”

  “I’m not sure about knocking out the whole wall, but we can definitely get away with creating a framed opening to combine the two.”

  I snap my fingers. “I like that idea even better. A set of folding doors would come in useful if we ever want to close one of the rooms off or use them for separate events.”

  “I’m all for it,” Brian says, and Snyder makes a note of it.

  As we cross through reception, I say, “I don’t envision this room needing much in the way of construction. As far as decor, I’d like to come up with something really wow to greet our guests.”

  We continue into the lounge. “Opal’s artwork adds a local flavor. We might consider adding some smaller pieces by other area artists.”

  “Brilliant suggestion,” Brian says, and Snyder adds, “We have quite a few talented artists who would be proud to have their work featured.”

  “We could even host art shows followed
by a cocktail reception and dinner,” I say.

  “Yet another brilliant suggestion,” Brian says.

  “We’ll come back to the bar,” I say as we bypass it and continue on to the dining room. “To attract patrons who aren’t staying at the hotel, the restaurant needs a name, its own identity instead of the dining room at Hope Springs Inn. A magnet or theme would help. I have no idea what that might be. Fly fishing or a historic event that happened at the hotel.” I move to the center of the room. “I envision a farm-to-table modern grill room, elegant yet casual, with a variety of seating—banquettes and free-standing tables, a long community table stretching down the middle of the room.” I cross to the far wall and open the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. “We’ll never attract a prominent chef with this kitchen. We need to gut it and start over with high-end commercial appliances.”

  “That’s a no-brainer,” Brian says.

  I throw open the french doors, and we walk out to the veranda. There are a few rickety rockers but no tables or lounge chairs. “What better place for our guests to enjoy coffee in the mornings than looking out at the mountain range. Was the veranda ever used for dining? I couldn’t tell from the photographs.”

  Brian massages his chin. “Not that I remember.”

  “We need to make outdoor dining a priority since everyone wants to be outside these days. Is there a way to widen the veranda?”

  Stepping down off the porch, Snyder cranes his neck as he looks up at the building. “I don’t see why not. For balance purposes, you would want to extend it the entire length of the building.”

  Brian says, “This side will be for dining and the opposite end for relaxing in hammocks and rockers.”

  Snyder turns toward the stone patio. “You might consider enlarging this area as well. Get rid of the fountain to accommodate tables and firepits. You wouldn’t necessarily have to serve your guests out here. Just offer them a place to hang out.”

  “These are all wonderful ideas.” We cut back through the dining room, and when we reach the lounge, I say, “I have an idea for the bar, but I’m not sure what you’ll think of it. You won’t hurt my feelings if you hate it.”

  Brian leans against the granite-topped bar, arms folded and eyes on me. “You have my undivided attention.”

  “I saw dozens of pictures in the albums of Billy performing here. What if we line the walls with Billy’s fabulous collections as a special tribute to him? We could call it Billy’s Bar, or something catchier.”

  When no one says anything, I look closely at Brian. Are those tears in his eyes?

  He swipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. Definitely tears. “I love it.” Brian looks over at Snyder. “What’d you think, Jack?”

  Jack, too, appears choked up. “Billy would be honored.”

  Brian pushes off the bar. “I’ll leave the two of you to continue the discussion.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “You have done your homework, young lady. I’m impressed with you and your wealth of ideas. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you,” I say, beaming. I take his compliment to mean I’ve passed his first test.

  Brian turns to Snyder, extending his hand to shake. “I’ll look for those numbers on Monday.”

  “You’ll have them.” Snyder claps his shoulder. “If we can agree on the numbers, we’ll get started right away. Pulling this off by September will be no small feat.”

  Jack and I spend two hours inspecting nearly every inch of the main building, starting on the ground floor and working our way up. We take extensive notes, Jack on his legal pad and me on my phone. We agree to give the guest rooms and suites a face-lift, with new carpeting and fresh paint, and to gut the bathrooms, tearing out the old and putting in marble tile and new fixtures. Jack is thorough and I enjoy watching him work. Specifically, the way his Wrangler jeans hug his butt. I have to remind myself repeatedly that he’s married.

  On the top floor, we discover water-stained ceilings and wallpaper in many of the rooms. “You have a leak or leaks in the roof,” Jack says. “I’ll get my roofer over right away to give us an estimate.”

  When our assessment is complete, we take the elevator back to the lobby. Jack turns to me at the front door. “This project means a lot to me, Stella. I don’t need this job. I have homeowners waiting in line for my services. But I spent a lot of time at the farm as a child. I have fond memories of birthday dinners and coming to see Santa. Billy’s family used to host a great big picnic right before school started every August. They’d invite the entire town for free hot dogs and hamburgers, watermelon and fireworks. That was back in the good old days before . . .” His voice trails off and he stares out the front door.

  “Before what?”

  He hesitates, as though struggling with how much to say. “I don’t want to get into all that now.” His gaze shifts back to me. “In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve convinced Brian not to get bids from other contractors. For two reasons. One, there is no other capable builder in Hope Springs. He would have to hire a firm out of Roanoke or Richmond, and the travel expenses would be a large factor in the bid. But also, because I’ve promised him I’ll do the work as economically as possible. He trusts me to keep that promise. I have every intention of meeting our early September deadline. In order to do that, I need your cooperation. While I like what I heard from you today, I don’t really know you. Your age and inexperience are concerns.”

  I lift myself to my full height, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. “That’s fair. And I appreciate your honesty. You have my word that I will give this project my undivided attention. However, because I am inexperienced, I will need guidance. Can I count on that from you?”

  “Absolutely,” Jack says with a sigh of relief. “Once Brian approves the numbers on Monday, I will immediately set things in motion.”

  “Which brings us to my first question. What do we do with all the furniture during construction?”

  “You’ll need to hire a mover and rent warehouse space. Talk to Brian about that. He may have one lying around.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You mean, a warehouse?”

  Jack smiles. “Yes, an empty warehouse. Powers is a resourceful man.”

  “I wonder if he has an interior designer lying around.”

  “I might be able to help you with that. My sister is an architect in Richmond. She works with commercial designers all the time. I’m sure she’d be happy to offer recommendations.”

  “That would be great.” I add decorator to my long list of topics to research when my computer arrives. “So, your sister is an architect? I have a project in mind that will require an architect. Is she any good? That’s a stupid question for me to ask her brother. Of course, you think she’s good. Since we’re going to be working together, you should know that I’m an expert at putting my foot in my mouth.”

  He chuckles. “You’re too hard on yourself. I’ve known you now for several hours, and that’s your first blunder. You handled yourself well with Brian. He’s a tough audience.”

  “You seem to know a lot about Brian. Are the two of you close?”

  “This is a small town, Stella. Everyone is close.”

  “Brian doesn’t seem to want to talk about himself. At least not with me.”

  “He’ll open up,” Jack says. “Give him some time.”

  Jack props himself against the front door, as though not yet ready to leave. “Tell me more about this project you have in mind. Why do you need an architect?”

  “I’d rather show you. Do you have time to walk down to the lake?” When he glances at his watch, I add, “It’s getting late. I understand if you need to get home to your wife.”

  He thumbs his wedding band. “I can make time.”

  With legal pad tucked under his arm, he follows me out the back door, across the stone patio, and down the stairs to the sidewalk. I see the lawn and flower beds through a different set of eyes now that Bernard is no longer with us. In all the confusion, no one, includi
ng Brian apparently, thought to consider what we will do without a groundskeeper. According to Opal, we need a whole crew. “You don’t happen to know a groundskeeper looking for work, do you?”

  “Not off the top of my head. What happened to Bernard?”

  I quickly explain the events from earlier in the day.

  “Whoa! That must have freaked you out, having him pull a gun on you like that. Bernard has been here since I was a child. I can’t believe he’d do something like that.” Jack’s arm shoots up, finger pointing at the sky. “I take that back. Last time I saw Bernard, he was drunk outta his mind. I say good riddance.”

  “I agree. Surely, it won’t be too hard to find a replacement.”

  Jack slows as we pass by the carriage house. “I haven’t been inside that building in years. Do you know what condition it’s in?”

  “I don’t.” I dangle my set of keys. “Care to have a look?”

  “Sure.”

  The carriage house door is stuck, and Jack has to use the force of his body weight to open it. I enter the building ahead of him. Two sets of stairs flank the small foyer, and as I cross the threshold into the main living area, I duck my head too late, running smack into an enormous spiderweb. Sticky cobweb coats my hair and my mouth.

  “Here. Let me help you.” Removing a red bandana from his back pocket, Jack wipes the goo off my face. His cologne smells like patchouli and sandalwood. His touch is gentle, and as his hazel eyes meet mine, a spark passes between us and we jump apart.

  To hide my embarrassment, I rake the cobweb out of my hair, tying it back with an elastic band, while Jack circles the room with his legal pad. He’s back to business, our moment forgotten, which is just as well. The man is forbidden fruit.

  We spend fifteen minutes checking out the identical suites—each with two bedrooms connected by a sitting area—on the second floor. We exit the building, and I’m locking the door behind us, when Jack says, “I’ll give Brian a separate estimate for remodeling this building. Then he can decide whether to proceed now or wait until later.”