Page 7 of Surrender

Hunter moves into the sleeping quarters on the other side of the desk, returning a moment later with a thick coat in his fist. “Need anything?” he asks, swinging the jacket on and covering his red hair with a winter hat.

“Nah. Thanks, bud. I’ll make another run out in the morning in case you forget anything, so just make sure you have your personal essentials.”

He gives a crooked smirk. “I always do.”

I watch him leave. A blast of chilly air follows him out the door, the bitter cold bite reminding me to feed the fireplace on the other side of the room.

Hunter’s a good kid. He’s twenty but started working for me when he was only sixteen and looking for a job. At the time, I couldn’t promise him a whole lot, but we hold down the motel pretty well. I have a few part-time seasonal staff to fill in the gaps and a cleaning lady who helps me turn over the rooms.

My family thought I was crazy for taking over the motel when the previous owner retired. But I was young and feeling stuck. I’d swore to myself a long time ago that I’d never leave the Powells after they took me in, and not a soul could ever take me away from my twin brother, Jude. The two of us had been through more than most in our childhood and leaned on one another to get through.

After high school, I felt directionless. College wasn’t a big priority, but I took a few business classes to appease Nancy and Terrance, and when the opportunity presented itself, it felt like a sign. I could stay in Fairview Valley. I could stay with my family who I owed so much to.

When my oldest brother Lee went and started up a dog rescue, he knit our family together even more. Everyone had a purpose and a place. A reason to stay in Fairview Valley.

After the current guests turn me down for fresh sheets, I return to my desk to work through this month’s books. This week will be rough, but the motel is profitable enough to keep me running despite the lack of guests. Next week, I’ll be booked solid during the races and beyond as some stay into the following week to explore the area, ski, and go ice fishing on one of the many nearby lakes.

The door bursts open with an icy chill. Flurries surge inside on a gust of wind, followed by a woman with her hands full.

“Here, let me help you.” I round the desk without a second thought and retrieve a suitcase from her hand. When I reach for the other, I realize it isn’t a suitcase but an infant carrier with a thick tan blanket draped over the top.

“Thank you.” Her breathless voice is soft. “I forgot how cold it gets here.”

She stomps her feet on the all-weather mat and watches as the little girl at her side clumsily mimics her. The child’s short blond hair whips around her face with the movement.

“You from the area?” I deposit her bag beside the staircase to the rooms on the second floor and return to my post behind the desk.

“Years ago.” She waves her hand.

A warm hum of familiarity flares to life in my gut, but I’m having trouble placing her. I nod at her bare fingers. “Might want to remember to grab some gloves if you’re sticking around.”

“It’s one of those things.” She takes her toddler’s hand and walks up to me at the desk. “You remember to get all the essentials for your kids, but you can’t remember to grab them for yourself.”

A flash of irritation strikes me at her statement. I open my mouth to argue before snapping it shut.

“I don’t have kids.” I flash a blunt smile to let her know I’m not knocking her life choices.

Her eyes spark with amusement as she laughs. “I guess you wouldn’t understand, then. I’m just lucky I bought suitable boots, or I might end this trip without any toes.”

“How long are you staying?”

I pretend to click through my computer, knowing damn well we have a whole wall of rooms free at this moment.

The silence stretches on. I glance up to find her biting her bottom lip with a contemplative look in her eyes. They’re a light brown. Almost a golden hue like a dark drizzle of honey.

“A week? Can we start there?”

Start there? My brows snap together. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a long stay.

My gaze flicks to the entrance, half expecting a husband to march through after fixing a flat tire or parking the car after dropping them off at the door.

“I can do that. But I feel like I should warn you that we have a big event next week, and we’re all booked up next Monday through Thursday.”

“Oh.” She bites her glistening lip again before sliding her credit card and license onto the desk. “Well, I’ll take the week and look for something else.”

“Do you need somewhere long term?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. The housing arrangement I had lined up fell through this morning, so I’m scrambling a bit.”

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