Hearts Inn

Chapter One-2

Rosalie

drove down the street, taking in the sleepy buildings and faded signs of the

storefronts. When she’d arrived back in Ashhawk, she

was struck by how rundown it was from baking in the Southwest sun for so long.

It was as though time had left it behind, and the residents who hadn’t left

limped along its pothole-ridden streets in beat-up cars and rattly

old trucks. Freight truckers came through on occasion but not at the rate they

had before the mega truck stop had been built one town up. The town wanted for

everything but heat and sky.

Ashhawk’s inhabitants were half rednecks

with beer guts and nicotine stains on their teeth and half granola-eating

hippies who had wandered away from Santa Fe. Rosalie wasn’t sure whom she

wanted to steer clear of more—the men who ogled her from under their

sweat-stained baseball caps or the women with straggly braided hair asking her

what her sun sign was. On both sides were descendants of Hispanic settlers

and several Native American tribes forced to relocate or assimilate countless

times in the last two hundred years. It was an odd combination of people to run

into at the gas station or drugstore.

A few

well-meaning townspeople had come to visit Rosalie during her first week in

town. A woman wearing a ghastly teal blouse, her cheeks ruddy and her gut

spilling over her jeans, came bearing a sausage casserole, saying she hoped to

see Rosalie at the next Catholic service. Another woman came sliding into the

hotel lobby on silent sandals, wearing a hemp skirt, bearing a vegan lasagna.

She invited Rosalie to a yoga and meditation group and made a few unsolicited

suggestions for effective aromatherapy. Not wanting to engage with either side

of town, Rosalie had kept to herself. Cleaning up after Susan and organizing

the last twenty years of files kept her busy enough.

Rosalie

pulled into the parking lot of the diner and slipped inside, eager for the

relief of cool air and caffeine. The waitress working the afternoon shift was

young and attractive, with blond hair and pale pink skin that stuck out

among the tan-skinned masses of Ashhawk. Rosalie

studied her painted nails, simple jewelry, and a figure that didn’t stretch or

pull her white-cuffed diner uniform. She didn’t wear a name tag, and

Rosalie couldn’t discern anything about her other than she wasn’t a redneck or

a hippie. Without a topic of conversation, she retreated to a table with her laptop.

Since the

last time she’d been in Ashhawk, Rosalie had busied

herself with school, work, and a few relationships. The latest girl, Tara,

had crept along the boundary of Rosalie’s comfort zone while Rosalie debated

how far to let her in. She adored Tara’s company, and she knew the ease with

which they conversed was rare. But she found herself needling through Tara’s

personality for flaws, looking for a reason to avoid entanglement. She hadn’t

found any but had kept Tara at a distance that was perhaps unnecessary.

Just when

she’d decided to step into their relationship with both feet, Rosalie had

gotten the news she was now the owner of a shoddy hotel in the middle of

nowhere, and they had agreed to reassess where they were when Rosalie returned.

They’d talked on the phone once since Rosalie had arrived in Ashhawk, but the conversation had been

superficial. Rosalie didn’t know if she should be relieved or sad about

it.

Rosalie

decided to look through pictures of her friends on f*******: to remind herself

of home. A picture of Tara and some of her friends popped up first thing.

Looking at her didn’t bring on the sadness or guilt she’d expected. She missed

Tara, but only in the way she missed many things about Philadelphia. Tara was

familiar, while everything in Ashhawk was

not. She felt only a dull ache paired with a familiar comfort.

She tried

not to miss anything too hard, as she didn’t think of herself as a sentimental

person. With any luck, she’d be out of Ashhawk

and back to her accounting job soon. Her employer had given her a generous six

weeks off with guaranteed job security. She tried to think of her life as

being on an uncomfortable pause for a few weeks. It was easier to endure that

way.

When the

waitress brought over her coffee, Rosalie looked up, clicking out of Facebook

and murmuring her thanks. She thought for a moment she should try to strike up

a conversation but couldn’t find the energy or a topic. She figured it wasn’t

worth putting forth effort to make new friends anyway. She was only here until

she figured out how to manage the hotel from afar or sell it for more than

pennies.

After

ordering coffee, she busied herself with actual work. Her task for the day was

to explore how much it would cost to set up a functioning website for the inn

that included a booking agent. If she could increase occupancy, it would be

more attractive to potential buyers, but building a website was time-consuming

and slow. She thought back to the lobby and figured she ought to do something

about the air conditioner.

Rosalie

stood and walked to the counter.

“Is your

coffee okay?” the waitress asked, looking up.

“Yeah, yeah.

Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know a handyman around town, would you?”

The waitress

looked as though she was surprised to be asked about something besides coffee.

“Like someone to build and fix stuff?”

Rosalie

nodded. “I just took over the Hearth Inn for Estelle Campbell. I need a little

help with maintenance.”

“Ohhh,” the waitress said. “Umm...” She glanced around

the register before reaching for an old receipt. “There’s this guy Ralph lots

of people call. He can fix anything.” She scribbled a name on the receipt, then

paused, scrunching up her nose in apology. “I don’t know his number.”

Someone at

the counter piped up. “You looking for Ralph Ecker?”

The waitress

turned her head toward the man. “Yeah.”

“I got his

number.” The man shifted in his seat to take out his phone. It was a silver

flip phone, something Rosalie hadn’t seen in years. He opened it, sliding it

along the counter toward Rosalie with a grin Rosalie couldn’t decide was

friendly or predatory.

Rosalie

tried not to touch the phone as she copied down the number and slid the receipt

into her purse, noticing the man’s body odor and stained hat. “Thanks.”

Rosalie

retreated to her table again. All too soon, her phone rang, and she had to

return to the hotel where a disgruntled guest was looking for her to unclog his

toilet. If the trucker who had clogged it couldn’t figure out the problem,

Rosalie sure as hell couldn’t. Rosalie tried to conceal her disgust as she

called a plumber. Then she retreated to her room and found the receipt with

Ralph’s number on it.

By the sound

of his voice, Ralph was an older man, his voice etched with years of smoke and

breathing in desert dust. Rosalie pictured him with a bushy mustache and

paunch, though not as unkempt as some of the other local men.

“Hi, I’m at

Hearth Inn, and I’ve got an AC unit that just quit on me. Any chance you’d be

able to help me out?”

“’Fraid I’m tied up at the drugstore helping them with their

refrigerator unit this afternoon. I might be able to come by tomorrow. Where’d

you say you were?”

“I just took

over the Hearth Inn for Estelle Campbell. I’m her granddaughter.”

“Oh! Why

didn’t you say so? Let me send my kid Alex your way. Twenty minutes okay?”

Rosalie

exhaled in relief. “Sounds great.”

“No

problem,” Ralph said. “Take care now.”

Rosalie hung

up and lay back on her bed, relieved to have figured at least one thing out for

the day.

She decided

to rest for the twenty minutes she had before the handyman arrived. She stared

at the popcorn ceiling. It was probably filled with asbestos. She ought to have

it inspected. The thought of how much its removal would cost gave her a sick

feeling in her stomach.

Rosalie

hadn’t brought many of her own belongings, so everything in the room from the

appliances to the bedspread to the wall decorations was Gran’s. There was

nothing, save for Rosalie’s computer and phone, indicating it was the

twenty-first century. The same could be said for the rest of the hotel. Rosalie

did intend to address the décor problem to make the hotel more attractive to

buyers but had no idea where to start. The tacky gold-framed stock art? The

faded polyester bedspreads? The textured wallpaper? The

cracking lampshades? Rosalie wondered if it might be less work to raze the

building and start from scratch or burn it down for the insurance.

It didn’t

feel like twenty minutes before Rosalie heard a knock on her door. She jolted

up, feeling guilty to have been caught daydreaming. She rushed toward the door,

expecting to be greeted by a younger but just as heat-toughened man as Ralph

had sounded.

But instead

she found a woman—perhaps five years older than herself—with warm, tan skin,

light brown eyes, and curly chestnut hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She

had a stoic look to her face, a long nose, and a small, serious mouth. Her

shoulders were square and strong, her stance androgynous, though her long

eyelashes and curly hair offset any confusion about whether she was female. She

wore a plain black tank top, straight-cut jeans, and work boots, without a

stitch of makeup or jewelry.

“Uh…hi,”

Rosalie greeted. “Can I help you?”

“My dad said

your AC went out.” Her voice was sturdy, neither too high nor too low for her

body.

“Oh! You’re Alex.

Yeah, in the lobby.”

Rosalie

stepped out of her room and shut the door so Alex wouldn’t see how shabby her

accommodations were.

Rosalie

walked the short distance to the lobby door, unlocking it and leading Alex

inside. The temperature of the room had already risen to an uncomfortable

swelter.

“How’d you

know which room was mine?” Rosalie asked.

“I lived

here for a few months while I was doing some repairs for Estelle.”

“What did

you repair?”

As soon as

she said it, Rosalie realized she sounded critical. The hotel was in such

disarray, it was hard to imagine Gran had done any maintenance at all. She’d

made it sound as though Alex was responsible.

Alex stared

at Rosalie, unsmiling. “Other air conditioners.”

Rosalie felt

herself warm with embarrassment. “This one’s the same,” she said, pointing to

the machine that had sighed its last breath of cool air hours before.

Alex moved

toward the rusting old machine, crouching in front of it before giving a stiff

nod. “No problem,” she said. “I’ll get my tools.”

Rosalie gave

a grateful nod, hoping Alex would forgive her tactless comment. She retrieved

her laptop from her room and sat in the sweltering office for the next hour

while Alex worked.

Frustrated

with trying to set up the website, Rosalie began browsing commercial real

estate agents. She couldn’t find any in the area with a decent website, which

didn’t bolster any confidence. She didn’t know who to trust for guidance.

The office

phone rang just as Rosalie was about to give up her search for the day. Hoping

it was someone calling to book a room, she picked up with her usual response:

“Hearth Inn,

this is Rosalie speaking. How may I help you?”

“May I speak

to Estelle Campbell, please?”

It was

awkward to respond to people asking for Gran. “She’s deceased. I’m her

granddaughter.”

“Oh…I’m so

sorry,” the man said. “Hmm, well, do you know who I might get in touch with

about her estate?”

“Her estate

has been settled,” Rosalie said, wary. “I was the sole beneficiary.”

“Oh, then

you’re the person I want to talk to. My name is George Tackett, and I’m with

Shaylin Development Inc. I’m calling in regard to a piece of property in Ashhawk. We’re interested in buying and wondered if there

might be a time to set up a meeting.”

Dumbfounded

an opportunity to sell the hotel had fallen into her lap, Rosalie sputtered.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’m free any time.”

“Wonderful,”

George said. “I’ll be out your way next week. Does Tuesday afternoon work?”

“Absolutely,”

Rosalie said, relief spilling over her as though the air conditioner was working

again.

“Where would

be the best place for you to meet?”

“Right here

on the property. It’s hard for me to get away.”

There was a

pause, and Rosalie wondered if their connection had been disrupted.

Then George

spoke. “We are talking about the property at 578 Cocheta

Way, correct?”

Rosalie

frowned. “The address here is 682 Mohan Drive.”

“Oh, I’m

sorry. Are you also the beneficiary of the property on Cocheta

Way?”

Rosalie

thought back to the many phone calls and meetings she’d had with Gran’s lawyer.

Not once had another piece of property been mentioned.

“I’m not

aware of any such property.”

George

hummed. “Would you be able to give me the name and number of the late Mrs.

Campbell’s counsel?”

Recalling

the nervous twitching and fragmented way Gran’s lawyer spoke, Rosalie didn’t

think it was a good idea to give his name out to an opportunistic business

developer like George Tackett.

“I’m sorry,

I can’t. I’d be more than happy to speak with you about the property on Mohan

Drive, though.” Her mind hopped to the next step—getting a real estate lawyer

and consulting with anyone who might help her get the best deal out of the

property.

“Unfortunately,

our client is only interested in the Cocheta

property,” George said.

Rosalie sank

into her chair. She had been so hopeful. “I’m sorry to hear that. Please let me

know if you ever need accommodations in Ashhawk.”

“Will do.

Good day, Miss Campbell.”

She hung up,

feeling the heat of the room overtake her.

Alex kept

her back to Rosalie, her attention focused on the air conditioner. Though she’d

given no indication she was listening to Rosalie’s half of the conversation,

she spoke.

“You trying

to sell this place?”

Rosalie

looked up, feeling a surprising flicker of guilt. “Maybe.”

Alex was

quiet for a moment before she said, “Probably a tough sell these days.”

“Yeah.”

Rosalie sank lower in her chair at the suggestion she might be doomed to stay

in Ashhawk longer than she intended.

Alex said

nothing as she worked on the heavy white machine, her arms and back flexing in

her tank top. Her skin was smooth and taut over her muscles. A sheen of

sweat made her even more of a distraction. Rosalie caught herself staring and

felt her own brow prickle with sweat. She wiped it away and got up to fill a

cup with water. But as she tried the tab on the water cooler, she found the

cooler was empty. Of course it was; nothing in this stupid hotel worked.

Rather than

disrupt Alex’s work by asking if she might be able to help heave a giant water

cooler jug up onto the stand, Rosalie walked across the street to the

convenience store and bought two bottles of ice cold water. She brought them

back into the lobby, offering one to Alex, who accepted it with a stiff smile.

After

another twenty minutes of tinkering, Alex stood and wiped her hands on her

jeans. She pressed a button and the machine jerked on, vibrating the whole wall

before it found its rhythm. Rosalie felt a cool breeze on her damp face.

“Fixed,”

Alex said, as though it was unclear.

“You’re a

lifesaver,” Rosalie said, hoping to make up for her snide comment

earlier.

Alex looked

at her, expressionless. “Just a handywoman.”

Rosalie

asked how much she owed Alex for her services. She pulled out a checkbook and

was in the middle of writing a check when Alex strode out the door. Rosalie was

bewildered until Alex walked back into the lobby with two huge water cooler

jugs on her shoulders.

Rosalie

bounded up from the desk, not knowing how to help with the heavy load.

“Careful,”

she warned.

Alex walked

over to the cooler and plopped a jug in, sighing as it gurgled and glugged into

place, air bubbles blasting through it until it settled.

“Thank you,”

Rosalie said.

“No

problem.”

“I’ll call

you if I need anything else fixed.” Rosalie smiled genuinely this time.

“Please do.”

Alex gave a faint smile as she rested her hands on her hips. “I’d hate to see

this place fall apart.”

Rosalie held

a check for Alex’s hourly rate plus tip forward, and Alex took it

before collecting her tools and leaving without ceremony.

No sooner

had Alex’s truck rumbled out of the parking lot, a guest came into the lobby

reporting yet another clogged toilet. Disheartened, Rosalie called the plumber

again.

The hotel

was not going to let her go without a fight.

****

As she tried

to fall asleep that night, Rosalie heard coyote pups howling in the distance,

their calls pinched into whiny yips. Rosalie thought of Gran and how she’d

loved those coyote calls. She hoped wherever Gran was now she could hear the

coyote calls, too.