One Snowy Night (Sweet Home, Alaska #1) - Patience Griffin Page 0,65
all-or-nothing deal, Donovan. Reopen the hardware store or your Christmas Festival wine tasting is a no-go.”
Donovan took his seat, feeling dazed, angry, dismissed . . . even cornered. He hadn’t been prepared for this scenario. And he was always prepared. Didn’t they know that he could just pick up and leave Sweet Home and let the lodge rot?
But he couldn’t do that. His grandparents would be so disappointed in him if he didn’t see this through. He’d be disappointed in himself if he ran. Again.
Restoring the hardware store to its previous charming state was an impossible task, especially with such a short deadline. Getting the lodge up to snuff by the weekend before Christmas, when the Christmas Festival took place, was going to take every minute of his time, plus Rick’s. Donovan did have some help—Hope. But the three of them couldn’t do it alone. With the hardware store added to the agreement, there was no way he could get it all done.
In dismay, he stared at the back of Hope’s head, musing that the old Hope would’ve jumped in and saved him. She would’ve explained to the town that the lodge was enough. But this Hope just sat, staring straight ahead, as if Donovan weren’t there. Just a ghost.
Maybe he was one.
He was shocked that he didn’t matter to her anymore. Shocked by how much it hurt. He longed for their old closeness. Which was something he never expected, not in a million years.
* * *
• • •
PINEY WAS FEELING pretty pleased with herself. It had been her idea to make the hardware store part of the deal and she didn’t feel one bit guilty about it either. The extra money wouldn’t put a dent in Donovan’s net worth, but it could literally mean life or death for Sweet Home.
If only she could come up with a way to bring Hope and Donovan together, some neutral ground away from the ogling eyes of Sweet Home, where they would have a chance to recapture the love of their youth. She put the idea out there, knowing the universe would provide.
Chapter 13
DONOVAN, WITH BOOMER in tow, left the Baptist church only to have his arm tugged, pulling him to a stop.
Hope had fire in her eyes. “How could you do this to us?” It was clear she felt personally betrayed.
Yes, it was personal for Hope. And, he guessed, personal for him, too. The loss of Beau, his grandmother, and Izzie all felt fresh.
That look on Hope’s face made him regret not giving her a heads-up about speaking to the council tonight.
“Tell Leaky you’ve changed your mind.” Her words were almost a plea.
“I can’t do that.” Donovan felt an overwhelming need to make things up to his grandparents for running out on them when Beau died.
“If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your daughter.”
“What are you talking about?”
Hope pulled him over to the side of the road; apparently she didn’t want the rest of the town to hear them as they piled out of the meeting.
She dropped her hand from his arm and her eyes darted self-consciously to several people who were openly staring at them. Hope took a deep breath before bringing her eyes back up to meet his. “Ella has a drinking problem.”
No! Why couldn’t he have passed on his ability to throw a hundred-yard pass? Or that he could code like a son of a gun? He’d wanted to pass his strengths to Ella, not his biggest flaw—the family drinking gene.
But maybe Hope had it all wrong. “Tell me what’s going on.” Ella might have caved to peer pressure at a party sometime, but that didn’t mean she had a drinking problem at all.
“Ever since my dad died, Ella’s been drinking a lot. I think she’s self-medicating with booze, trying to dull the pain. She and my dad were close. He lived part time with us from the time she was little.” Hope choked up a bit. “We both miss him.”
Donovan wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. But he couldn’t. He’d only just forgotten how good she felt in his arms the last time. Well, he was only kidding himself about that, too. He could never forget how she felt. She was imprinted on him as surely as if her heart were carved into his own.
But she wasn’t the old Hope, and he wasn’t the screwed-up kid who’d left Sweet Home at eighteen.