Changing His Plans
Author
Jo McNally
Reads
19.9K
Chapters
18
Chapter One
Brittany Doyle saw the gathering storm clouds on the horizon.
She simply deemed them not worth her attention.
Clutching her leather-clad tablet and wearing her favorite I-rule-the-world stilettos, she stood on the corner of Main and Maple in the center of Gallant Lake, New York, and smiled. It was easy to see why she’d been sent here. The waitress at the resort restaurant this morning described the town as “quaint.” Quaint, schmaint—this tired old town was dying. On the way into town, she passed half a dozen For Sale signs on homes. A number of businesses in town were boarded up. She couldn’t blame them for leaving. Unless they could find work at the resort, what chance did a regular person have to make a living here?
Oh, sure, there was a cute coffee shop across the street from the waterfront. A custom furniture shop. A liquor store. Dress boutique. They might be able to survive. But the buildings along the water? A closed-up gift shop. A so-called consignment store that looked more like a shady pawnshop. And an ancient hardware store that was straight out of the 1930s. She took photos and tapped away on the screen with her notes. Those places would all have to go.
An old blue pickup truck rumbled down Main Street, disturbing the early-morning quiet with its nonexistent muffler. A few minutes later a sleek BMW convertible purred past her, followed by a Gallant Lake police car. The officer nodded casually in her direction as he drove by. Charming, small-town Americana. Ripe for the picking.
Located in the Catskills, Gallant Lake was only a few hours from Manhattan. There was a recently refurbished resort that was already attracting tourists. A gorgeous lake—she held up her tablet and snapped a picture of it across the way—for summer fun, and mountains all around for skiing. This town was a potential year-round gold mine. The scene on her tablet was something straight out of her top secret guilty pleasure movie—Dirty Dancing. Maybe because she’d read in the brochure that the Gallant Lake Resort had once been one of those grand summer resorts during the ’50s. The downtown brick-and-clapboard buildings hadn’t changed much since then. It definitely held a Mayberry vibe. They could use that in marketing the place.
No wonder Conrad offered a six-figure bonus if she could secure the properties they needed in just two months. Quietly, efficiently and without drama. Basically, the Quest mantra.
A distant rumble of thunder echoed through Gallant Valley, which some people would find ominous, but Brittany just smirked. Bring it on, world. Her coworkers didn’t call her The Barracuda for nothing. That bonus was hers, and so was this Podunk town. After this deal, Conrad hinted strongly that a partner position could be waiting. There was a corner office with her name on the door, she was sure of it.
She stepped into the Gallant Brew for a cappuccino. Her expectations were low, but she was pleasantly surprised as she watched the gray-haired hippie lady behind the counter. The woman knew her way around an espresso machine. And that bright red machine was state-of-the-art. She set an insulated to-go cup near the cash register and smiled at Brittany.
“We’ve got fresh pastries, honey, if you’re hungry this morning.”
Brittany smiled politely. “No, thanks. I had breakfast at the resort.”
“Oh, you’re visiting, then? You’ll love the resort—the Randalls have done a wonderful job bringing it back to life. You’re a few weeks early for leaf-peeping. Are you here for a wedding or something?”
“No, no. I guess you could say it’s business-related, but really, I’m just enjoying the area.” She looked out the window, across the street to the buildings that lined the lakeshore. “I see some empty storefronts in town. It’s surprising with the resort as full as it seems to be.” Brittany was fishing, strictly out of habit. She already knew the names of the owners of each property on Main Street. She knew that only a handful of businesses, including this coffee shop, were doing strong business in town. The resort didn’t hold visitors long enough for most businesses to survive year-round. But vacation condos and luxury lake homes? That would bring people to Gallant Lake who would need places to shop and dine. It might even attract some chains to the area.
She realized the woman behind the counter—her name tag read “Cathy”—hadn’t answered. Instead, the woman was staring at her with a great deal of uncomfortable interest.
“What kind of business did you say you were in?”
Brittany mentally kicked herself. She should have been more careful. She shrugged and flashed a bright smile as she evaded the question. “Oh, a...a friend of mine knew I was thinking of moving to the area and recommended the resort as a base for my research. Are there any towns you’d recommend?”
Cathy relaxed and started rattling off names of Realtors and towns and properties Brittany should consider. Brittany nodded and smiled, enjoying the delicious cappuccino. After a polite period of time, she excused herself and headed for the door. Time for more recon before she started knocking on doors.
“Oh, honey, I’d stay inside if I were you,” Cathy called out. “Looks like a heck of a summer storm brewing this morning. You’ll get yourself soaked.”
She looked at the clouds, which were now boiling and dark. Gusts of wind had the small trees near the water dancing back and forth. There was an energy in the air that made her fingers tremble slightly on the door handle. She loved the thrill of the hunt, and this just made it more fun. Cathy-the-aging-hippie might be right about the weather. But Brittany hadn’t made it this far by showing fear in the face of a challenge. She laughed over her shoulder at the woman behind the counter.
“It wouldn’t dare rain on me!”
Nate Thomas put his key in the back door of Nate’s Hardware at exactly 6:30 a.m. He’d been doing that for over fifteen years now. The rest of his routine was just as predictable—back lights on, coffee maker started, jacket on hook, cash box removed from safe, cover pulled from the large cage outside his office. Then Nate headed up front to unlock the shop door.
Hank the parrot ruffled his bright turquoise feathers, then screamed a string of obscenities, knowing full well it was the only time he was allowed to do so. After he ran through his impressive repertoire, the bird gave a wolf whistle, and Nate whistled back. Just another day at work.
It was Tuesday, so Nate settled at the rolltop desk in the back office to go over the books and check inventory. Because that was what he did on Tuesday mornings. His first cup of black-as-tar coffee sat on a coaster his great-grandfather had bought at the Montreal World’s Fair in 1967. That would have been Nathaniel Hawthorne Thomas number three. Nate was Nathaniel number six. Unfortunately, Nathaniel number five had been more interested in the racetrack and chasing skirts than the family business.
Nate promised his grandfather he’d keep this store going, just the way it had always been. That he’d keep Gallant Lake going. Gramps saw the town when it was booming, and he’d watched its slow decline as the resort fell into disrepair in the 1970s. He kept telling Nate the town could bounce back if it was smart about it. He begged Nate to make sure the town stayed smart. He’d done his best, starting a business owners’ association and working on sprucing up the waterfront.
He was determined to keep his promise, even if his mother and sister wanted him to sell out and join them in Florida. What the hell would he do in Florida? Work at some impersonal box store? No, thanks. His roots were deep in the floorboards of the eclectic old store. This was where he belonged. He stared out the window at Gallant Lake.
The water was being whipped up by gusty winds this morning, and the color of the water matched the charcoal clouds rolling in low from the west. Looked like a sharp August storm was headed their way. Sure enough, the opposite shore was white with a downpour, and he could see the rain sweeping across the water. He never tired of watching the ever-changing view from this office. He used to sit on his grandfather’s knee and listen to the stories of great blizzards, the near miss of Hurricane Hazel, the great drought in the 1930s that dropped the water level so low people walked out hundreds of feet from what should have been the shoreline. Gramps would talk about the original heyday of the Gallant Lake Resort, visible a mile or so away, when the rich and famous came to Gallant Lake by carriage and train to leave the dirty air of the city behind. Beyond the resort was the pink granite castle called Halcyon. People used to whisper that it was haunted.
He and his pals used to sneak into the old place when they were kids. It was vacant back then, and they were sure they could get the ghost to show up, but no such luck. They just saw big, empty rooms paneled in mahogany, with dusty marble floors. When its current owner threatened to demolish it, it was Nate who led the community protest that started with a few people carrying signs and ended in court, where a judge declared Halcyon a landmark that couldn’t be torn down. Ironically, the owner, Blake Randall, ended up refurbishing it into a family home and moving in. Nate’s relationship with Blake was still a little strained, so he’d never gotten around to asking if he and his family shared the space with a ghost.
Nate leaned back in his chair and the oak planks creaked beneath him. Too bad this place wasn’t haunted—he could charge money for ghost tours. He took another sip of coffee and closed the ledger. The books were just barely in the black, but he was getting by. Life was good enough.
Sheets of rain slapped against the window, quickly turning the view to gray. There wouldn’t be much business today if this kept up, so he may as well get to work on taking inventory. He’d just started sorting the pesticides, getting ready to put most of them away until spring, when the front door swung open with a loud bang and a string of colorful swear words spoken in a female voice. He stuck his head around the corner of the fasteners aisle just in time to see a tall brunette stagger into the revolving seed display. Some of the packets went flying, but she managed to steady the display before the whole thing toppled. He took in what probably had been a very nice silk blouse and tailored trouser suit before she was drenched in the storm raging outside. The heel on one of the ridiculously high heels she was wearing had snapped off, explaining why she was stumbling around.
“Having a bad morning?”
The woman looked up in annoyance, strands of dark, wet hair falling across her face.
“You could say that. I don’t suppose you have a shoe repair place in this town?” She looked at the bright red heel in her hand.
Nate shook his head as he approached her. “Nope. But hand it over. I’ll see what I can do.”
A perfectly shaped brow arched high. “Why? Are you going to cobble them back together with—” she gestured around widely “—maybe some staples or screws?”
“Technically, what you just described is the definition of cobbling, so yeah. I’ve got some glue that’ll do the trick.” He met her gaze calmly. “It’d be a lot easier to do if you’d take the shoe off. Unless you also think I’m a blacksmith?”
He was teasing her. Something about this soaking-wet woman still having so much...regal bearing...amused Nate. He wasn’t usually a fan of the pearl-clutching country-club set who strutted through Gallant Lake on the weekends and referred to his family’s hardware store as “adorable.” But he couldn’t help admiring this woman’s ability to hold on to her superiority while looking like she accidentally went to a water park instead of the business meeting she was dressed for. To be honest, he also admired the figure that expensive red suit was clinging to as it dripped water on his floor.
He held out his hand. “I’m Nate Thomas. This is my store.”
She let out an irritated sigh. “Brittany Doyle.” She slid her long, slender hand into his and gripped with surprising strength. He held it for just a half second longer than necessary before shaking off the odd current of interest she invoked in him. He turned his hand palm up and she dropped the broken heel into it.
“Come on back, Brittany, and I’ll see what we can do.” He took a few steps before he realized she wasn’t following. He turned to face her and read her expression with understanding. She had no reason to trust him. “You’re right to be cautious about following strange men around, but it’s ten o’clock in the morning in Gallant Lake. I’m just offering you a place to sit while you wait.” A shiver ran through her. “And a towel. And a hot cup of coffee. And that’s it.”
Her pretty tawny-brown eyes, just a little tip-tilted at the corners, lit up at the mention of hot coffee. Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded, following him in her awkward, one-heeled gait. Nate was so busy thinking about the woman that he completely forgot about Hank.
“Hello! Hello! Hello!”
The parrot’s harsh voice echoed around the shop. Brittany-in-the-red-suit let out a scream and jumped sideways, bumping into a tall stack of dog food. Nate caught the stack before it went over, then grabbed Brittany’s arm to stabilize her.
“Sorry. Hank’s extra loud in the morning. Here...” Nate turned to the display wall at the back of the store and grabbed a pair of orange flip-flops with bejeweled daisies on top. He handed them to Brittany, who was eyeing Hank with daggers. “I think you’d find walking a lot easier if your feet were both at the same level.”
“I’d find walking a lot easier if that creature hadn’t scared the shi...daylights out of me.” But she snatched the sandals from his hand. “What the hell are you doing with a bird in your store? Isn’t that against sanitation laws or something?”
City women.
“It’s a hardware store, not a restaurant. And Hank’s a very clean bird, if you don’t count his language. He’s a fixture here.”
“Charming.” That word in that tone did not sound like a compliment.
“If you’d rather walk back to your car and go somewhere else for shoe repair, I think there’s a place in White Plains...” It wasn’t like Nate to be rude, but he couldn’t help goading this woman.
A crash of thunder answered before she could, and he noticed her mouth tightening at the sound. She didn’t like the storm. She didn’t like Hank. And her glare made it clear she’d leave if she could, because she didn’t seem to like him very much, either. But she couldn’t leave in this weather, so he may as well fix her shoe. She followed him to his office, colorful flip-flops slapping on the floor, and claimed his leather chair at the desk. He went into the back room, found a beach towel and tossed it at her. Her annoyance started to fade when she wrapped it around herself like a blanket. She was probably chilled to the bone.
“What do you take in your coffee?”
“One sugar and lots of cream.”
“Powdered creamer is all I have.”
Her face scrunched in disgust, and Nate almost laughed.
“Again—not a restaurant. Hardware store. You want it or not?”
“Fine.”
He used his mom’s bright yellow mug. She hadn’t been here to use it for years, but it was tradition that everyone in the family had their own mug waiting in the office. Her Majesty accepted the coffee with a mumbled, almost reluctant, “Thank you.”
“Give me a minute to glue this up.” He went to the bench in the other room and found his favorite bonding glue. He used it while repairing antiques. He placed a few dots far enough from the edge that they wouldn’t seep through. Then the heel was pressed into place on the... He looked inside. Jimmy Choo. He’d heard of them. Expensive. He had a feeling everything about this woman was expensive.
When he walked back into the office, she was staring out at the lake. The striped towel was wrapped around her shoulders, but she’d obviously used it on her hair while he was gone. The chestnut-brown waves were drier, fluffier and had been brushed off her face. Her profile, with the backdrop of the stormy lake, was striking. A perfectly straight nose and full lips. Those large golden eyes with the upswept corners. The gold hoops hanging on her ears matched the multiple gold necklaces, and the bangles on her wrists. This woman was classy. Sharp. A real go-getter. This woman didn’t belong in Nate’s Hardware. She didn’t belong in Gallant Lake. She turned to look at him in the doorway.
She was a grown-up version of Monica Battersby from high school. Prom queen. Valedictorian. Champion tennis player. Daddy was a doctor. Mom ran a charity foundation. Monica walked down the halls like she was walking a red carpet. She didn’t waste time with anyone outside her circle of equally privileged friends. She certainly never made the time of day for Weird Nate Thomas from the hardware store.
He swallowed hard. This pretty brunette—even drenched from the rain, wrapped in a towel, wearing flip-flops—she was another Monica Battersby. She was out of his league. And still...
“Was the operation a success?”
“What?”
She held out her hand. “The shoe? Did you cobble it or not?”
“Um...yeah. Give it a little while to finish setting up before you put weight on it. You can keep the flip-flops to wear.”
“I can pay for the sandals.”
“I’m sure you could.” His eyes gave her a once-over, taking in all her designer duds again. “I’m saying you don’t have to.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him intently. Then she gave him a slow smile. The towel slid slowly off one shoulder. She wasn’t Monica Battersby anymore. Now she looked more like that black-and-white poster of Sophia Loren that Gramps used to have hanging in this very office.
Gramps used to say Sophia was the kind of woman whose beauty was timeless because it was more than skin deep. Her beauty glowed from within. Gramps said Sophia wasn’t a put-on. She was “The real deal, boy.”
Nate had a feeling that, somewhere inside that proud, prickly attitude, Brittany Doyle might just be the real deal, too.
