By Reservation Only

By Barbara Edwards

It's the grand opening of The Deerbourne Inn! Award-winning Chef Nathan Harte has worked long and hard to restore this historic property in Willow Spring, Vermont. He's ready to greet his guests with fine cuisine, comfortable rooms, and maybe even a ghost or two.
He's escaping the rat-race of the city for a slower more rewarding life, but is he ready to deal with a broken arm, a quirky arsonist, and a long-ago mystery? And what might he find up in the three-hundred-year-old attics?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Oct 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509224005

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Since the inn was quiet, she pulled on a long T-shirt and opened the door. Her heart fluttered. She was disappointed Nate wasn’t waiting for her in the dark passage. She blew out a frustrated breath and opened one of the bedroom windows to let the fresh breeze blow in. A whip-poor-will called from the hill.

The comfortable bed beckoned her. Flowery potpourri scented the bedroom air. She lay on top of the handmade quilt and stared at the ceiling. Sleep eluded her. She lost count of the times she turned over, punched the pillow, yawned.

An owl hooted from the nearby woods. The call of the whip-poor-will sounded closer. The curtain flapped and the scent of smoke tainted the air. Her watch claimed it was only twelve thirty, not nearing dawn. She swore and rolled over again.

Someone knocked on Nate’s door and called his name. Emily pulled on her pants and sneakers before she opened her door.

What’s happening? Her pulse raced. Smoke, she smelled smoke.

By Reservation Only

by

Barbara Edwards

Deerbourne Inn, Book One

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

By Reservation Only

COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Helene Radjeski-Edwards

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by RJ Morris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Mainstream General Rose Edition, 2018

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2400-5

Deerbourne Inn, Book One

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Bill, my husband and travel companion

Praise for Barbara Edwards

I enjoyed this thriller. There's a lot to like about Melanie and Steve whose secret affects their relationship. The ancient persona is equally interesting and truly add to the story. ANCIENT AWAKENINGS is worth picking up.

~ Romance Junkies Review

I’d recommend Dixie’s Gift to anyone who is in the mood for a heartwarming read.

~ Long and Short Reviews

I love Christmas stories that have a cute twist and keep the reader engaged until the end. Barbara Edwards does this with Late for the Wedding."

~ J. A. Davis

Chapter One

Award-winning Chef Nathan Harte wiped the new granite kitchen counter before pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. Dawn cast a soft glow over the Vermont hills bracketing the town of Willow Springs.

A mixture of cinnamon, apple, and nutmeg scented the kitchen. He checked everything was cleaned and put away. Was it really done? After all this time? Satisfaction and pride welled in his chest. Being compulsively neat could be considered a burden, but he regarded it as a basic necessity. He eyed the antique cake-stands of muffins, apple turnovers, and coffee cake he’d baked since three a.m.

Although many had advised him to keep the kitchen to the period of the inn, as a professional chef, he couldn’t do it. He had to have top of the line. The best. If he was to create memorable meals, he had to have the right tools. He listened to his cousin Liz and her internet searches on historical accuracy for every other room at the inn. Just not in here. This was his. All his.

The antique clock in the front foyer chimed six times. Perfect. He’d started at three this morning and everything was done. Getting his morning routine down to just the right time was necessary for when his guests were here.

The handymen coming in to finish a number of details would appreciate the snacks. Planning how long it took to provide the day’s breakfast had been easy after fifteen years cooking everything from omelets to Eggs Benedict.

A ballad from the sixties played on the one local radio station. Not really his favorites, the selection of music from the fifties and sixties held nostalgia for the locals. A smile curved his mouth.

His six foot three inches made it easy to reach the top shelves in the new cabinets. With his rangy build accustomed to the last months working outdoors as well as inside, he felt fantastic.

Satisfied the new granite counters and warm cherry cabinets gleamed, he ran a hand along the back of the banquette. The green cushions added a homey touch. Eating breakfast here provided a wonderful view through the wide expanse of glass. Herbs thrived in green and yellow pots along the windowsills. He snipped a basil leaf and sniffed the fresh scent.

Copper pots shone from a large pot hanger over the counter. Two sub-zero refrigerators hugged the outer wall and a commercial stove dominated the other counter along with double ovens. The dumbwaiter and servant stairwell occupied the corner.

Small details made the space personal. Across the inside wall, his framed awards mingled with the artwork Liz had hung. The attic had been a treasure trove of items that his cousin had brought down and incorporated to make the contemporary kitchen cozier. Glass-fronted cabinets displayed depression-era glassware and fine porcelain teacups.

When he pinched another leaf, the scent of mint drifted on the air.

The Deerbourne Inn was his space. Not being under the gun all day from a difficult boss felt great. He’d regained the ten pounds he’d lost and enjoyed all the physical labor the place demanded.

Without Bertha Deerbourne’s gift of the property, he’d still be in New York. He’d saved enough money to remodel the inn, but buying it had been beyond his reach. Despite dreaming of breaking free, he never expected Bertha’s generosity. He lifted the cup in a salute to her memory.

He left New York because he’d felt he had no choice. He’d been edging close to a total burn-out. How had Bertha recognized his need?

His gaze caught on the framed portrait on the wall. Sadness washed over him as he stared at the picture of Bertha Deerbourne. His old friend. Without her gift of the inn and its property, he’d still be busting his butt in the restaurant in New York City. Instead, he was the only non-Deerbourne to own the historic property since it was built before the American Revolution. As crazy it sounded when he’d first found out what she’d done, it felt right.

He’d turn Deerbourne Inn back into the place to stay in New England. It would be the go-to restaurant for locals, and people would flock from across the country to stay and take in all that this area of Vermont had to offer.

Everything at the inn was proceeding as planned. The renovations to the rooms were complete except for a few minor details, the exterior painted, the dining room ready, and his upgraded kitchen a gem. He’d stopped looking back. Or so he told himself.

He stared outside. The freshly mowed lawn was immaculate, green grass fluttered in the breeze. Hills rose in gentle waves to the Green Mountains. Gold and orange leaves speckled the trees. Red bee balm swayed in the breeze. The feathery petals attracted hundreds of bees. A grin lifted his mouth. Guests asking about the fall colors were in for a pleasant surprise.

The addition of the solarium to use as a dining room had been his idea. The glass walls revealed a stunning view in every season. It had the perfect location for serving off the kitchen prep area and access to the interior rooms. Although he’d already opened the dining room on a trial basis for townsfolk, the official date coincided with the long Labor Day weekend.

Willow Springs might be small but it was one hundred percent New England. A town green bookended with white Congregational Church and Catholic Church spires lifting to the blue sky. The Farmer’s Market opened on the town green every Thursday.

He squinted at the large yard. This morning a web of clothesline stretched from the corner across to the new gazebo. It looked like his cousin Liz had decided she needed to get the bedrooms ready, although opening day was a week away. Sheets were already blowing in the light breeze and his mouth quirked in amusement as he saw Liz clip white pillowcases next to them.

Recently widowed with two young children, his cousin had been grateful when he’d asked if she’d like to help him with the inn, but he was the one who was fortunate. She’d handled so many details—things he’d never thought of and some that were so overwhelming he had no idea where to start. Looking back, he had no idea how he would have done all this without her.

He slid open the solarium’s nearest glass door and stepped out on the wide deck. Newly varnished floor planks gleamed. I still don’t understand why you don’t use the brand-new commercial dryer I bought for this.

She put her small hands on her hips and tipped her head to look back at him. When they figure out how to bottle the true smell of sheets hung out in the sunshine, I’ll use the dryer. She pinned the last side of the pillowcase and walked toward him.

He handed her the cup of coffee he’d brought out.

Thanks. She took a sip. Umm, nice. It’s going to rain later so I wanted to get these out early. Plus, the kids are still sleeping so it was a good chance to get it done.

In companionable silence they leaned on the deck rail together, drinking their coffee and looking out over the yard. The acreage needed work. Although he’d added an herb garden close to the house, it was mostly raw dirt. He wanted to enjoy these moments. In the city there had never been time.

Sensing her stare, he turned with a puzzled frown. What?

You need a haircut before the big opening. Shaggy is not in anymore. Liz made a clipping motion with her fingers.

He ran his hand through his thick hair, noticing she was right. His chestnut-colored hair reached his collar and broke into waves. Those wild curls had resulted in his clipping it short for most of his cooking career. Maybe I’ll let it grow long like yours instead. He tugged on her long, blonde ponytail.

She swatted at him. Are you going to the farm market?

Yep. He set his coffee cup on the deck rail. Need anything?

Maybe, if they have any berries. It seems the one snack I can put out for Sarah and John that they will actually eat like candy. Now shoo and let me get my work done.

You got it. Laughing, Nate shooed. Liz always made him smile, had since they were children. He grabbed his bike and walked around to the front.

The breeze lifted his green T-shirt. Knowing he’d be heading out, he’d worn clean khaki shorts and sneakers.

The ride to the farm market took him along the main road and to the green. He waved at Reverend Jeffrey Ingalls from the Congregational Church.

Pedaling along the sidewalk, he stopped in front of the newspaper office. The weekly Willow Springs Gazette was fresh off the presses and he paid for one from