Page 4 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
I turned away from the street and smiled at Mrs. Connelly as she opened the door to her pottery and kitchenware shop. “Good morning!”
The stores downtown wouldn’t survive in most small towns, but thanks to the heavy influx of summer tourists, businesses like hers were flourishing in Prescott.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked. “Next time you talk to your mom, let her know I just got in that Himalayan salt block she’s been wanting to try.”
“No problem.” I smiled, then set off for the motel.
The early April air was cool but the sun was shining bright, keeping me warm in my jeans, sneakers and light-gray zip-up. I loved mornings like this when I could drop off Coby at his daycare, Quail Hollow, and then walk downtown. These mornings gave me a chance to appreciate my little town.
Not much changed in Prescott, and any changes that did come took time. Predictability was what made this home. Soon, the old-fashioned lampposts would be hung with flower baskets. Spring items in window displays would be swapped out for summer. Tourists would flood the quaint area and crowd the narrow sidewalks.
With them would come my busy schedule and I wouldn’t have time for these little morning walks. I’d be too busy at the motel, frantically trying to keep up with check-ins and check-outs. I’d need the extra ten minutes to update a reservation or fold a load of linens.
Tourism wasn’t just good for the downtown shops, it was my bread and butter too. Three weeks from now, tourist season would be well underway as out-of-towners flocked to Prescott on their way to Yellowstone National Park. I was already booked solid through the summer, and by the time winter rolled around, I’d trade my morning walks for morning naps in an attempt to catch up on months of missed sleep.
But for now, I was enjoying the spring air and my lighter morning routine.
“Morning, Maple,” I said as I passed her setting up a sandwich board outside her coffee shop.
She popped up from behind the sign, curly gray hair flying everywhere, and smiled. “Hello, sweetie.”
“Have a great day!” I called, not stopping to chat. I loved my walks but if I wasn’t careful, I could spend hours visiting with everyone along Main.
Main Street was the hub of the town, its heart. The street itself started at one end with a community fishing pond and ended at the other with a pair of gas stations whose owners were locked in a never-ending battle to post the lowest gas price or beer special. Past the gas stations and up a rounded incline was the highway that led out of town. My motel was the closest business to Main Street from the highway, so I proudly considered it to be an integral part of the charm that was Prescott’s downtown area.
As I approached the highway, I checked for traffic, then jogged across the near-deserted road, taking a moment to appreciate my most prized material possession.
The Bitterroot Inn.
Every extra cent I could scrape together went into improving my motel. I cleaned rooms, washed bedding and scrubbed toilets instead of paying for a full-time housekeeper. I took reservations and did all of the bookkeeping myself so I didn’t have to hire an office manager. And rather than pay for professional contractors, I bummed help from my brothers and guy friends.
If I could do it with my own two hands, I did. I painted. I replaced light fixtures. I’d even taught myself how to lay bathroom tile.
I’d worked my ass off for almost three years and my efforts were finally starting to pay off.
Reservations were higher than they’d ever been, I’d built a solid reputation for my business, and my list of improvements left to make was nearly complete.
Walking past the staircase that led to the upstairs loft where Coby and I lived, I rounded the side of the building and unlocked the glass-paned lobby door. Flipping over the lobby sign to read Come On Inn, I crossed the small room, dropped my purse behind the tall counter and scanned the reservation list I’d printed out last night.
I only had four guests at the moment, with two others coming in tomorrow for the weekend. The light occupancy meant I wouldn’t spend my nights doing laundry and instead could make more progress on renovating another guest room. I was making a to-do list for the day when the lobby door opened and my brother Beau ducked inside.
“Hey!” I abandoned my list to give him a hug. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be going to Bozeman today for your tux fitting?”
He scowled but nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have to leave for fifteen minutes. I thought I’d check and see how the tile turned out in room seven.”
“It’s amazing!” I did a little happy clap. “My best work yet. Let me grab the key.” I went back behind the counter and pulled the key from the pegboard. While it wasn’t fancy or common these days, my motel had actual metal keys. When they got lost, it was a total pain to change the locks, but the charm of real keys made all the hassle worth it.
“I talked to Sabrina last night,” I said as I followed Beau outside. “She said you gave in on the live band.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his thick, dark beard. “It will make her happy.”
“You realize she’s going to make you dance, right?” At six foot six, he was a mountain of a man, and just like our dad, Beau didn’t have the physique for graceful dancing. The best he could do was a lumbering two-step and slow jitterbug.
“We’re currently in negotiations about the dancing.”
I pulled my lips together to hide my smile, knowing exactly how those negotiations would end. “Right.”
Beau and Sabrina’s wedding was in a month and it promised to be an extravagant affair, something rare around these parts. While Sabrina was loving every minute of the wedding planning, my brother—who was far from extravagant—was counting down the milliseconds until the honeymoon.
