Page 2 of Dandelion Sighs

“I’ve talked to her to get information.” It’d been a long shot with my finances. “She said her hands were tied. She can’t sell or rent the property for another few months. I guess it’s locked up in some trust, and she’s only the executor.”

When it went up for sale, I wouldn’t be able to afford it, but I wanted to know what the outlook was. If she rented, I could ask about just the portion between the resort and the lake. I might’ve been able to afford to lease the whole place. If she had no plans to sell initially, I could plan and save for when it did go on the market. Without the extra lake traffic we’d get from direct dock access, I wouldn’t have the revenue. I could make more from increased dock access, but I’d have to figure out what I could do to improve the bottom line without the sale.

“The rest, though?” Everly asked. “It’s good? The staff is doing all right? It’s gotta be a big transition for them.”

It would be, but it might be harder for me. One of my mom’s loyal employees made it known immediately that I wasn’t my mother. “Constance, the head housekeeper, is going to be an issue.”

“Fire her.”

“I can’t fire her right after the only boss she’s ever known passed away.” I’d give her the benefit of the doubt first. Then…I’d worry about how letting her go would affect the rest of the staff. I only needed to prove that I could successfully run the place, and firing the woman with the longest employment there wasn’t a good start.

She tsked. “True.”

“And she’s the only housekeeper.” Also a big con in the whole firing chart.

Everly laughed. “Fair. Still sucks.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see. “She’s old enough to be my mother, and she acts like it. I never liked her, and she seemed more disappointed in me than my brothers are.”

“You’re the boss now. Don’t let her forget it.”

If I reminded Constance of that, then she might leave, and the other staff would follow. My brothers would be right—I was a failure without my parents’ help.

“I wouldn’t put it past her to quit and start her own resort and steal all the workers.” They all looked up to her. It’d taken days before the restaurant manager had actually come to me with a question, but that might’ve been because I’d been in the office and she expected Constance.

“You’ll have to give them a reason to stay.”

My mom was the reason they continued working. She was a delight as a manager and owner. Now I was the manager and owner of Bishop’s Landing. My brothers got the money and I got the small hotel with an attached bar and grill located in Bishop’s Bay outside of Coal Haven.

I inherited the summer fishing competitions and the winter ice fishing tournament. I had to make sure our family name lived on with Bishop’s Landing, the business my parents started. I didn’t make them proud when they were alive, but I’d make sure all their hard work didn’t fade away. The home away from home that my dad died for, trying to rescue guests’ boats in a storm, would stand long after him.

The pressure behind my eyes grew stronger. If I kept talking, I wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I should get back to the office.”

“Call me if you need anything. Or if you need a place to crash.”

Thanks for the confidence.

I hung up and sadness overwhelmed me. The coffee shop held a few people. Several in casual business wear stood in line, and a crowd around my parents’ ages was set up in a corner. Too many to witness a breakdown. I rose and cradled the yogurt container in one arm. A cry tore at my throat, and a choking sound escaped. Shit. I had to get to the privacy of my car. I might be able to throw on a pair of sunglasses before I ugly-cried for the next hour.

Picking up my ceramic coffee mug, I deposited it into the bin on top of the trash. Then I sprinted out the door and right into a hard wall of man. The container squeezed against my body and arm. A popping sound came from it just as the guy stepped back.

“Whoa,” he said in a pleasing deep voice. “Sorry about that⁠—”

The container dropped to his cowboy boots. Ashes poofed everywhere, and a mushroom cloud of dust swirled around his jeans before blowing away.

A high-pitched sound left me. The need to sob vanished, but my stomach churned. I swallowed hard to keep from vomiting all over his boots.

Oh god.

“Shit, sorry about that too.” The man picked up one boot to inspect it before stooping down to grab the container starting to roll away in the breeze.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Words gathered on my tongue and vanished just as fast. What a mess. How did I tell him? My stomach pitched and rolled.

He put the lid loosely on the top to hand to me.

I yanked my gaze off the mess, and my stomach settled just a little. The handsomeness of the easygoing man slapped the hysteria out of me. Dark stubble, a few shades browner than his eyes, covered his jaw. He had on a beige cowboy hat that shaded his eyes and decreased the intensity of his concern.

“Oh my god.” I finally said something out loud, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the apology he deserved, or worse, the truth he should know.