Here Comes Trouble Page 0,1
needed to build a world-class-level resort. One she’d known about through her connections back in Colorado before they’d even been publicly announced. It had been the exact break she’d needed at exactly the right time. And, historically for Kirby Farrell, the good breaks were very few and far between.
Now Pennydash, Vermont, would become an exciting new vacation spot for skiers, and at the moment, Kirby’s inn was the only other game in town. She was well aware there were other start-ups under way, but she’d been the only one to open up on time for the new resort’s inaugural season. A prime, once-in-a-business-launching chance to build a loyal customer base before the competition started.
Right.
She sipped her hot chocolate, defiantly made despite the seventy-degree temps, her own personal little nose-thumbing at Mother Nature, and studiously avoided going into the office she’d created behind her bedroom in what had once been the mudroom by the back of the house. Now the attached garage served that function and kept her from having to scrape clean her lovingly restored hardwood floors from all the muck her vast numbers of boarders would surely be tracking in, what with all the mud, snow, road sand, and salt out there. Or so she had planned, anyway.
Besides, she didn’t need to look at the books to know how broke she was. And even after spending close to a year renovating the three-story, gingerbread-laced, lone house up on the hill, there was still a long list of things she needed to do. Those were slated for the off season, later this spring and summer, bankrolled by the profits made from her first successful ski season as an independent innkeeper.
Mm-hmm.
Now her main objective was to keep the bank from rolling over on her business, which also happened to be the roof over her head. Either the snow had better start falling, or she’d better come up with another way to keep a full house and quick. She didn’t think she could handle having her dreams crushed twice.
Although, at least this time she’d see the end coming.
“Yeah,” she muttered, turning her back to the window. “Like train lights in a very short tunnel.”
She sat her half-empty mug down on the counter and walked into the front parlor where she’d been working on repairing a wedding ring quilt she’d found at a flea market the weekend before. It was going to make a gorgeous bedspread for the third-floor queen suite. But she wasn’t feeling up for the intricate needlework required. And quite frankly, sitting around indulging in another pity party for one was simply too pathetic, even for the mood she was in. Instead she grabbed a notepad and pen and went outside. Might as well utilize the sunny skies and bare ground to plot out the design for her spring flower and vegetable garden.
Take that, Mother Nature.
She was crouching in front of the weathered mulch at the base of a small willow, frowning at a tidy circle of crocuses that had the absolute nerve to even think about poking their little purple heads out of the dirt, when the loud, rumbling sound of a motorcycle vibrated through the warm, morning air.
She looked up in time to see a big, black, dust-covered Harley slow and swing into the narrow drive that led up the hill to her inn. The guy straddling the noisy monster was wearing a thick black leather jacket, jeans with what looked like black leather chaps over them, heavy gloves, heavier looking boots, and a black helmet that looked as dusty as the bike.
“Stealth biker,” Kirby murmured as she straightened to a stand. She could only assume he was either lost, or…well, she didn’t know any other reason why he’d be idling in her driveway. When he didn’t turn around at the leveled-out gravel lot area at the top and head back down the hill, she walked over to see what was up. Maybe he was looking for work. Which, good luck with that. The area wasn’t an economic boomtown in the best of times, and while the excitement over the coming ski hoards had been palpable in terms of expanding the local workforce, that excitement had waned rapidly in the face of the relentless, unseasonably warm weather.
“So, I hate to disappoint you,” she murmured under her breath, “but I’m definitely not hiring.”
As she drew closer, he turned off the bike, settled the weight on the kickstand, and then threw his leg over the back and straightened. He looked…well,