Page 87 of Live for Me

A soft voice followed. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Minutes later, after Bart led me to my usual table in the corner of the Grand Room, I got down to business. “What do you know about the hotel developers who came into a town a few years ago?” I asked, pulling up a blank document on my laptop to take notes.

The old man stared at me, the button of his pearl-snap glowing from the rays of the afternoon sun pouring in from the window behind me. “Is that what your story is about, Abbie?” he asked slowly.

I met his eyes and nodded once. “Yes, sir,” I confirmed, looking back down to my laptop, ready to take notes. Usually, I would have a pen and a notebook, but Beau failed to pack that the night he kidnapped me.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve had a lot of men in suits try and buy this property from me. You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

I relayed the information my boss gave me.

“So, you’re here to find out what happened to them?” he asked, seeking confirmation.

I inhaled a deep breath, sinking back into the old wooden chair, the leather padding cool against the top of my back as I crossed my legs. He watched as my hands fell away from the table, and I kept them in my lap as I said, “I’m here to find the truth.”

Something shifted in his gaze, glimmering with deception. “The truth can be ugly, Abbie,” he warned me gently. A cold, haunting chill trickled down my spine.

“The truth is the truth, Bart. You and I both know this. My boss thinks the world—at least, this small part of the world—deserves to know this truth,” I told him plainly.

He blinked, his features softening all over again as a smile teased his lips, his white whiskers lifting slightly. “I’m just surprised you’re chasing this particular story, Abbie.” He chuckled, looking down to my laptop. “It’s going to be difficult to put that one on the wall.”

My brows snapped together. “What are you talking about? What wall?”

Bart looked over to the other side of the Grand Room, across the various tables and seating areas to the massive stone fireplace.

A small gasp left me.

There, on either side of the fireplace, hung on the old, red brick, were elegant gold frames filled with newspaper clippings. I rose to my feet slowly, my breath halting as my eyes scanned over each one. Just as slowly, I made my way over to the far wall, wrapping my arms around myself. There were a few hotel guests littered throughout the room, minding their own business, working, having a cocktail from the bar in the next room, or even a cup of coffee from Miriam’s.

Once I was standing in front of the unlit fireplace, my head tipped back, taking in the articles going all the way up the red brick, stopping a few feet below the ceiling. Tears welled in my eyes.

I heard movement beside me, and without looking at the old man, I whispered, “Why did you do this?”

“You don’t like it?” he countered, his voice gentle. I looked at him, catching him just in time to see him look at the ground, muttering, “The boy said she would like it.”

“What boy?” I asked, turning to face him fully, a single tear sliding down my cheek.

Bart looking at me, his face filled with a mix of pride and sadness. “Your boy—your cowboy.”

“W-what?” I breathed out, my chest caving in. I looked back to the wall.

Beau did this?

“You didn’t—you didn’t do this, Bart?” I asked, tripping over my words.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Don’t get me wrong, darlin’, I have all your newspapers saved back at my house. Those are mine to keep, but Beau…” Hetrailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. “Beau believed the town needed to see how successful you are. He said the people needed a reminder of the amazing woman they shamed for years.”

Another tear, and my lip began to wobble. “I don’t—I don’t understand. This was Beau?” I rasped, jerking my thumb to the wall.

Bart nodded. “Yeah, darlin’, it was all him.”

“Why on Earth would you let him do this to your hotel?” I pressed, reaching out blindly for the nearest leather chair before falling into it.

The old man stepped up to me, holding out his hand. Without a word, I placed mine on top, and he covered it with his other. “For the last several years, Beau has been doing all the maintenance for the hotel during the winter months, my dear.”

My lips parted.

Bart nodded, seeing the shock on my face. “He needed something to keep him busy, Abbie. Instead of payment, he asked for this,” he explained softly, gesturing to my career display. I said nothing, frozen as he let go of my hand and walked away. I stared straight ahead, my very first article in my direct line of sight. A few moments later, Bart returned, placing my closed laptop down on the small table beside the chair before pulling up his own. He sat in front of me then, blocking the view of the article that essentially launched my career years ago.

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