Once Upon A Texas Christmas

Chapter Two

Seth tried to make sense of her words. Did the judge think he couldn’t handle this job alone?

The redhead’s smile faltered slightly—his lack of enthusiasm must have shown on his face.

Before he could say anything, however, she pulled an envelope from her skirt pocket and held it out to him.

“My apologies for springing this on you—Everett says my mouth sometimes gets ahead of my thoughts. Perhaps you should read this letter from Judge Madison before we go any further. I think it will explain matters.”

He accepted the proffered letter, his mind trying to make sense of her convoluted story. Who was Everett and why did he have any relevance to this? “Thank you, Miss...”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, where are my manners? I’m Abigail Fulton.”

“Well, Miss Fulton, if you will excuse me?” He executed a short bow and managed to make it to a nearby bench without leaning on his cane too heavily.

So, Judge Madison had arranged for him to have an assistant. Having someone to help with matters concerning the locals would no doubt be useful. But Seth had always selected his own assistants if he felt he needed one. And this young lady would definitely not have been his choice. She looked like she would be more at home in a Sunday school class than a business office.

Besides, her presence could prove to be a distraction. He glanced her way again. Already she was claiming more of his attention than he usually gave strangers.

Because she was such a chatterbox, of course.

More troubling was the fact that Judge Madison hadn’t mentioned this to him personally. Had he thought Seth lacking in some way? Or did he have some other reason?

Perhaps she was a friend of his granddaughter’s, someone he was attempting to help in some way. He supposed that was the man’s right.

Whatever the reason, Seth decided he could be gracious about it. Judge Madison had always been good to him, had been willing to take a chance on him when no one else would. He could extend the same courtesy to this young lady.

So long as she did her job adequately.

He unfolded the letter and scanned the opening. Then he halted and started over, carefully taking in each word.

I trust you made the trip to Turnabout in good form. As you have no doubt gathered, there are a few matters I failed to clarify before you left. This was partly because they were not yet definite, and partly because I thought it best you not form any preconceived notions before meeting Miss Fulton.

That being said, I have asked Miss Fulton to handle the decor aspects of the renovation and to partner with you on staffing decisions.

His jaw tightened. That could throw a hitch in his plans. Just how involved would she want to be in the staffing process?

It is my hope that this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement for you both. It will relieve you of the burden of making design decisions, allowing you to focus on overseeing the construction. And the combination of her knowledge of the local townsfolk and your understanding of the skills required should make for a highly effective partnership as you two work on the staffing.

You will receive your usual bonus at the project’s completion and Miss Fulton will earn the means to achieve one of her own dreams.

Seth frowned. What did that mean?

Working with Miss Fulton should not prove an onerous task. Despite her youth, I have found Abigail to be an imaginative, witty and charmingly spirited young lady. I believe she will be a fast learner and an able partner.

I look forward to seeing the results of your collaboration when I journey to Turnabout in December. If you should have any questions or concerns, you know how to reach me.

Sincerely,

Arthur Madison

As Seth read, he grew more and more incredulous. The judge wanted Miss Fulton to handle the decorating? He’d thought his employer wanted to give the hotel an air of sophistication and elegance. What did this provincial miss know about hotel decor? She’d probably never stayed in a truly elegant hotel in her life. If he had to keep a close eye on her choices it could actually lead to more work for him rather than less.

He realized he’d stiffened, so he deliberately relaxed. If this was what Judge Madison wanted, he’d just have to make the best of it.

She’d just better not get in the way of his plans.

* * *

Abigail watched Mr. Reynolds as he read the letter. He was certainly a different sort of man than what she’d expected. For one thing, he was younger than she’d imagined—he looked to be roughly thirty. And unlike the judge, who was so warm and forthcoming in his letters, this man seemed aloof and guarded.

To be fair, though, that might be due to travel weariness. And her announcement had seemed to catch him unawares.

His silver-handled walking stick had at first seemed an affectation. But then she’d noticed the slight stiffness of his gait as he moved to the bench and she’d realized the cane was more than a mere accessory.

Though his expression remained closed as he read the letter, she sensed he was displeased with the news. What was he unhappy about—sharing responsibility for the work, sharing it with a woman, or something else?

When he finally lowered the letter, he seemed lost in thought.

Abigail cleared her throat. “Is there a problem?”

Mr. Reynolds glanced up as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Not at all.” He folded the letter and slid it inside his jacket as he leveraged himself off the bench with his cane. “My apologies. I suppose I’m tired from my travels.”

His expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. Then he met her gaze. “May I ask how you came to know Judge Madison?”

She’d prefer to discuss their assignment, but she supposed it was a logical question. “Of course. We’ve corresponded regularly for going on five years now.”

He raised a brow at that. “Corresponded? So, you’ve never actually met.”

His tone remained neutral but something about his demeanor made her feel defensive. “Not in person, no. I’m looking forward to having that pleasure when he visits in December. But I believe we’ve gotten to know each other quite well in all the ways that matter.”

“I see.” He tugged on the cuff of his jacket. “With your indulgence, we can discuss how best to proceed with this...partnership after I’ve had a chance to freshen up a bit.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could direct me to the hotel.”

He seemed eager to be rid of her. But she had other ideas. “I’ll do better than that. After you make arrangements to have your baggage delivered, I’ll walk you there—it’s on my way.”

“On your way?”

“To the town’s restaurant. My sister-in-law owns and operates it and I promised to help her today.”

A few minutes later, as they walked down the sidewalk, Abigail pointed out the various businesses they passed. The man said very little in response so she did her best to keep the conversation going on her own. She noticed, however, that his gaze seemed to take in everything, so his silence apparently wasn’t due to disinterest.

Perhaps he just wasn’t the talkative type.

Finally, as they approached the hotel, she pointed straight ahead. “The Rose Palace is that red brick building up there.”

She could hear the sounds of construction above the other town noise, but since the work was taking place on the far side it wasn’t visible from their vantage.

She cut him a sideways glance, trying to discern his thoughts as he studied the building, but as before, his expression gave very little away.

When they reached the entrance, he gallantly opened the door and let her precede him. At least there was nothing wrong with his manners.

The curtains were open so the lobby had a cheery, sunshine-filled warmth to it. Abigail smiled—it was as if the place was putting its best face forward for his benefit.

“Can I help you folks?”

The question came from Mr. Crandall, standing at his usual post behind the guest book on the front counter.

Abigail led her companion forward. “Good day, Mr. Crandall. Allow me to introduce Mr. Seth Reynolds, the gentleman Judge Madison sent to oversee the renovations.”

She turned to him. “Mr. Reynolds, this is Edgar Crandall, the former owner of the Rose Palace.”

Mr. Crandall held out his hand. “Welcome to Turnabout and to the Rose Palace. We have a room all ready for you.”

Abigail took that as her cue. “I’m sure you’d like to get settled in, and I need to head to the restaurant. Perhaps we could continue our conversation over a late lunch.” She smiled. “In fact, you could meet me there. It has some of the best food you’ll find in these parts and it’s a short walk from here. Mr. Crandall can direct you.”

He leaned casually against the counter. “Actually, I’d prefer to eat here. I want to get a feel for the quality of the hotel’s current menu offerings.”

Even leaning against the counter, he managed to maintain his all-business air.

“Of course. Shall I return in, say, two hours?”

He nodded. “I look forward to resuming our conversation.”

Now why didn’t she believe that?

Abigail made her exit, trying not to lose heart.

Mr. Reynolds wasn’t the friendly, open person she’d been hoping for. Perhaps after he’d had time to rest from his trip he’d thaw a bit. Otherwise it might be difficult working with him for the next few months.

For all his standoffishness, however, there was something about him she found intriguing. And it wasn’t just that he was handsome, which he was, in a brooding sort of way. There was something she’d seen in those cinnamon-brown eyes of his, something that tugged at her, that spoke of a buried vulnerability behind his guarded attitude. There was his limp, of course, but it went deeper.

One thing was certain, he hadn’t been pleased to learn she’d be working with him. How would he react when she told him she wanted the job of hotel manager?

She’d given it a lot of prayer and thought. In fact, she had thought of little else since she’d received the judge’s letter. She’d even discussed it with Constance, testing the idea with her levelheaded friend.

The thought of managing a hotel on her own was daunting but exciting at the same time. If she could convince Mr. Reynolds and Judge Madison to give her the chance, however, she was absolutely convinced she could do it. After all, Constance had responsibility for the pharmacy and she was the same age.

True, Constance had gone to school back east to train for her position. But it wasn’t as if Abigail hadn’t prepared in her own way. She’d spent every minute she could with Mr. Crandall, getting his insights into what the job entailed and what he saw as the main challenges. And Constance had agreed that she had a way with people that would serve her well in a job like this.

It was just a matter of convincing Mr. Reynolds of her suitability. And surely, if he was anything like Judge Madison, he would keep an open mind on the matter.

* * *

Seth ignored the urge to watch his would-be work associate leave. There was something about her that got under his skin. But he didn’t have time for such distractions—he had to focus on his almost-within-reach goal.

He turned back to the former owner. “Mr. Crandall, let me say on behalf of Judge Madison that he appreciates your willingness to remain until we can transition to a new manager.”

Edgar Crandall nodded. “It was the least I could do. It’s good that you showed up today, though. I’m not sure how much longer I could have stuck around.”

Seth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Judge Madison tell you? The whole reason I sold this place was because my sister needs special medical care. I’m taking her to a doctor in Chicago as soon as possible. I told the judge I’d stay until his representative arrived, but I was beginning to think I’d have to renege and leave before that happened.”

It seemed Judge Madison had neglected to impart yet another piece of crucial information. He knew his employer well enough to believe it wasn’t an oversight. Which meant there was more to this than appeared on the surface. What was he up to?

For now, though, that question would have to wait. He hadn’t counted on having to hire new staff so soon. Maybe he could find someone to man the desk temporarily. “When are you planning to leave?”

“Norma and I will board the morning train tomorrow. We’re already packed and ready.”

“Do you have any recommendations for who can step in until we hire a permanent replacement?”

The man turned to retrieve a room key. “Abigail’s been hanging around here the past few days, studying the place and trying to learn what she can about the different jobs.”

He supposed that would make her insight into the staffing process more useful. “That was enterprising of her.”

Crandall smiled. “You’ll find Abigail is a fast learner.”

Seth decided to change the subject. “How many guests do you have currently?”

“We’re limiting our bookings to three guest rooms, the ones farthest from the construction. The noise level is a problem for the other rooms.” The man handed him the key. “You’ll be the exception. I have you in room six—top of the stairs and second room on the right.” He cast a furtive glance at Seth’s cane. “My sister and I occupy the first-floor suite. It’ll be vacant starting tomorrow if you prefer to have that space.”

Seth’s jaw tightened at this reminder of his perceived infirmity. But he merely nodded and turned toward the stairs. Though he’d long ago accepted that this was how he would be viewed, he still felt the sting each time it happened.

As he climbed the stairs he stepped deliberately, regardless of the pain. It helped him to concentrate on the job ahead. He would take a look at the state of the construction as soon as he freshened up from his trip.

All in all, from his initial look, the atmosphere here was overblown and cozy rather than elegant, rustic rather than refined. Nothing here spoke of sophistication and luxury.

Could he really count on Miss Fulton to handle the decor so that it was brought up to the judge’s normal standards? And to get it all done in time to wrap up by the end of the year?

Why couldn’t the judge have partnered him with someone who had more experience than the chatty young redhead?

How had his employer described her in his letter—witty, imaginative and charmingly spirited, a fast learner and an able partner? High praise from a man he’d always thought of as keenly perceptive.

But then again, the judge only knew her via correspondence. He’d never actually met Miss Fulton in person.

So, no offense to his employer, but he would form his own opinions about just how capable the woman actually was.

And so far, he was not impressed.

Chapter Three

“Did you have a chance to look around yet?” Abigail had just taken a seat across the table from Mr. Reynolds in the hotel dining room.

He inclined his head. “I did.”

The man didn’t seem to be any more forthcoming now than he’d been earlier. “And what are your thoughts?” she prodded.

“In my opinion, having everything completed by Christmas is an ambitious goal, but it is definitely achievable.”

“Oh.” Was this something he and the judge had discussed? “I know Judge Madison is planning to visit over the holidays, but I wasn’t aware that that was our deadline.”

He gave her an infuriatingly superior look. “It’s always good to have an end date in mind when starting any project. And Christmas seems an appropriate one in this case, especially since Judge Madison will be in town.”

Choosing to ignore his tone, she smiled. “I shall defer to you on that since I understand you have experience overseeing this sort of work.”

“I have experience in many different areas.”

Goodness, did the man have to be so stiff and solemn all the time?

Della Long, who had taken over the kitchen when Norma Crandall became too ill, arrived to take their orders. Abigail performed the introductions, then they made their selections from the very limited menu.

Once they were alone again, Mr. Reynolds picked up the conversational reins. “Mr. Crandall introduced me to Walter Hendricks, the man handling the construction.”

Abigail nodded. “Mr. Hendricks and his two sons are good men and they do good work. You can see examples all over town, including the schoolhouse and the town hall.”

“So you know them personally?”

“Of course. It’s a small town. Most everyone here knows everyone else.” His lack of conversation was making it difficult for her to discern how he felt about things. “Did you have the opportunity to inspect their work?”

“Briefly. I plan to inspect it in more detail over the next few days.”

“Well, I’m certain you’ll be pleased with what you see.”

He merely nodded noncommittally.

Deciding things might go better if she learned something about him personally, she changed the subject. “I actually have a favor to ask.”

He raised a brow. “And that is?”

Abigail smiled at the touch of wariness in his tone. “It’s nothing onerous, I assure you.” She retrieved a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. “My brother, Everett, owns the local newspaper and I help occasionally. I’d like to interview you for the next issue.”

Mr. Reynolds frowned. “I can’t imagine anything about me would be noteworthy.”

Was he just being modest or did he really think so little of himself? “Everyone has a story of some sort to tell. Besides, folks are always interested to learn more when someone new moves to town. And the hotel renovation itself is big news around here.” She opened the pad. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His expression didn’t change but she sensed his hesitation. Or was it annoyance?

He finally waved a hand, as if in surrender. “Very well, but let’s keep it short. There’s not much to tell anyway.”

Careful to keep the note of victory from her expression, she smiled. “Thank you. Let’s start with you telling me something about yourself—where you’re from, your family, what exactly it is you do, that sort of thing.”

“I’m from Philadelphia and my job is that of property manager for Judge Madison.”

“And what does a property manager do?”

“Judge Madison doesn’t care much for travel. Whenever something needs close supervision on any of his out-of-town properties, I act as his on-site representative and handle whatever needs attention.”

“That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Judge Madison must have a great deal of faith in you.”

He shrugged.

Definitely a man of few words. Moving on... “And your family? Are you married?”

“No.”

Ignoring the little spurt of pleasure that gave her, she pressed on. “Parents? Siblings?”

“Deceased.” His response was chopped and his tone warned against further probing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Was that why he seemed so closed off? She couldn’t imagine being entirely on her own. Even when she’d spent those long, lonely years in boarding school, she’d known Everett was out there and would come running should she need him. And she’d had holidays to look forward to, when the two of them could spend precious time together.

How long had he been on his own? “That must—”

But he cut her off, brushing aside her sympathy. “I lost them a long time ago. I’m used to being on my own.”

As if that would make it any easier to bear. But she took the hint. “Well then, can you tell me how long you’ve worked for Judge Madison?”

“Going on eleven years now.”

“And do you have any hobbies?” she asked, desperate to get some kind of personal insight. “Something you enjoy doing when you’re not working?”

He made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for hobbies. The judge keeps me busy. And that’s how I like it.”

The man was impossible! How could she get him to open up and give her more than these terse, uninformative answers?

Before she could ask anything else, Della returned with their food. Abigail set aside her pencil and notebook while the meal was placed before them. She wasn’t getting much to work with anyway. This was going to be a very dry article unless she injected more life into it herself with personal observations.

Of course, he had to actually do something for her to observe before even that much was possible.

* * *

Seth had never liked talking about himself, so as soon as the waitress departed, he took the offensive. “I believe it’s my turn to ask you a few questions.”

His words brought a pleased light to her eyes. Apparently, unlike him, she did like talking about herself.

“Of course,” she said, lifting her fork. “My parents are no longer around, but I have an older brother who’s married with two children.” She smiled. “I’ve already mentioned that Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs a restaurant.” She touched the pencil on the table. “And Everett owns and operates the town newspaper. I work with both of them from time to time.”

Interesting, but not the information he’d been after. “You said you and Judge Madison have been corresponding for a number of years. What initiated the correspondence?”

“That’s a fun story. He did an amazing kindness for my brother several years ago and I wrote to thank him. It continued from there. We discovered that we had similar tastes in literature and in food. He introduced me to Cervantes, and I introduced him to the joys of apple-pecan pie.”

Interesting. What amazing kindness had Judge Madison done for her brother? But she didn’t elaborate further so he moved to something else. “Do you have any experience doing the sort of work the judge is asking of you?”

“Not actual hands-on experience.” She said that lightly, as if it was inconsequential. “But I’ve studied as much as I could find and it sounds like fun. I don’t imagine it will be terribly difficult.”

He found her offhand manner irritating. Then he remembered the judge’s cryptic mention of allowing her to “earn the means to achieve one of her dreams.” “What will you gain from doing this?”

She frowned—was it at his question or his tone? Had she picked up on his irritation? She might be more perceptive than he’d given her credit for.