No Room at the Inn

By Sarita Leone

Hollywood starlet Livy Randolph faces a difficult decision, so she flees to Willow Springs to contemplate her future.

Carlos Ramos, a local contractor, yearns for a wife and children. When he meets Livy, he loses his heart, but learns she's not who she claims to be.

The year is 1958. Civil Rights issues surface on the evening newscasts but in Willow Springs, Vermont life seems peaceful. That is, until prejudice rears its ugly head.

Will this unlikely pair find a way to put their differences aside, stand up for their beliefs, and admit their futures may not be what they intended? Only time, and a bit of Willow Springs magic, will tell.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Aug 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509237234

Book preview

Carlos waited for her. Dressed in jeans, dark brown leather boots, a blue flannel shirt, and denim jacket, the man looked hotter than any actor she’d shared a screen with. Real-life hunks were much more attractive than make-believe ones.

Good morning. I hope you found your first night in Willow Springs pleasant. His voice brought gooseflesh to her arms. So warm and sexy, he instilled confidence and chased trepidation away.

We did, thanks. We were dull, though. I don’t know what Saturday nights are typically like around here but I’m sure we didn’t live up to the expectations.

That’s one of the best things about Willow Springs, that we have no expectations of anyone. It’s a live and let live kind of place. He looked at her feet. The black boots weren’t western style, but she thought they looked sleek with her jeans tucked into them. That’s some fancy footwear. Are you sure you want to ride in those?

I don’t have others so these will have to do. She packed them in case they found cold weather in Vermont. They weren’t suited for snow, either, but were better than pumps or sandals. What do we do now? She looked around him to where two horses were saddled and waiting.

Now, we ride.

Praise for Sarita Leone

Sarita Leone continues to quietly do what so many mainstream authors fail to do—deliver a great story that you actually want to read. She’s always been one of my favorite down-to-earth authors, someone I can curl up with and simply enjoy the plot and the characters.

~R. L. Jones (5-star review of Regenerate)

~*~

Strong, vulnerable heroine and a most appealing ghost. …This is a love story that crosses lines and goes outside the box. It is also a story about friendship—and the car most college kids dream about. If that’s not enough, wait until you meet the Keeper of the Pearly Gates.

~Sandra Carey Cody, Author

(5-Star review of Shelby’s Ghost)

No Room

at the Inn

by

Sarita Leone

Deerbourne Inn

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.

No Room at the Inn

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Sarita Leone

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 Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2021

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3723-4

Deerbourne Inn

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For those who believe every human deserves

equality and justice.

Every human—not just some.

Chapter 1

April 19,1958

Do you mind checking the map? I’m not sure we’re on the right road but I didn’t see any other turn off back there, did you? Film star Livy Randolph glanced at her best friend who rode in the passenger seat. Eva looked over the edge of a magazine before she traded her Better Homes and Gardens for the map. Never mind, you weren’t paying attention to the road. If I can find a spot, I’m going to pull off so we can both try to figure out where we are.

We’re in Vermont. In the colored mountains somewhere. Eva’s nose had been tucked into magazines nearly the whole time they’d been traveling.

The broad bench seat put her too far away to make a friendly swat at Eva effective, so she kept her hands on the big white steering wheel and looked for a pull-off wide enough to accommodate the Fairlane.

The studio presented her with the huge vehicle as an incentive to sign their newest contract. It put her under no obligation, so she accepted the gesture. On this trip she learned to park in tight places and allow for extra backing-up space to accommodate the car’s extended rear bumper. Her nerves were shot but, hey, free worked and driving across the country in a living room on wheels had its benefits.

Eva flashed the famous Milton smile, the one that put her face on baby food jars two decades ago. She never let anyone—especially her closest friend—forget that for one shopping season she had been the Clancy Infant Cereal Baby Food baby.

You think you’re funny, don’t you?

Eva unfolded the map and held it up in front of her face. I know I am. You do, too. Right now, you’re too cranky to admit it. She scowled at the squiggly lines and squinted at the tiny words. Well, this thing is upside down. No wonder it doesn’t make sense.

A shoulder about a quarter mile ahead looked like an ideal area to pull over. Livy took her foot off the gas pedal. The big V8 engine had oomph. They cruised over the speed limit and it hardly felt as if they were moving.

No! Riding with the top down on the luxurious convertible refreshed the soul but it also stole without mercy anything not well secured. The wind caught the edge of the map and tugged it right out of Eva’s hand. She twisted onto her knees and lunged as it went airborne, but her reaction didn’t come quickly enough. Oh, no—damn it, the map flew away.

With no place to stop and a big, boxy bread truck right on her tail, she tapped the brakes and flicked on her directional—all while watching the brand-new road map grow smaller in her rear-view mirror. It came as no surprise that Eva had let it fly away.

Livy sighed. Leave it to you to turn the map into a kite while we’re cruising at sixty-five.

She picked that one up at the last filling station. There were road maps from all the states they drove through in the glovebox. With any luck, they would retrieve it in good condition because making their way back to California without those maps would be a nightmare.

Hey, someone had to do something to liven up this last leg. You call it a kite; I call it confetti—what’s the difference? She reached for the glossy magazine and held it up. At least this is still here.

Eva’s silly mishaps and teasing made this road trip east an adventure.

Between driving, sightseeing, funny road games, singing at the top of their lungs to hits blasting from the car radio, and anticipation of two weeks of rest, Livy hardly thought of Hollywood at all.

But she wondered if they should have rented a car. This one reminded her of too many things, including the expectation that she’d take a jaunt, clear her head, and return to put her signature on a contract she didn’t want to sign—or else. And the or else came with a high price tag attached. Livy afforded luxuries, and received shiny gifts like the Ford, because of her livelihood. She could kiss it all goodbye if she refused to sign that bothersome bundle of paperwork.

This Vermont trip was supposed to be a relaxing chance to consider her options. And it had been, for the most part.

Except now, when she turned the key in the ignition and killed the engine so she could scramble after a road map on a stretch of rural highway.

Let’s go.

Eva perused the magazine again, but she raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow and looked over. Go where?

Pushing the heavy driver’s side door open with her shoulder, she replied, To find the map that you sent flying through the air with the greatest of ease like some circus stuntwoman. C’mon, hop out. And be grateful I’m helping you.

She exited when traffic slowed, walked to the back of the car, and waited. The other woman took a minute to buckle her sandals. Then, she flipped the visor down and checked her face.

Forget the lipstick! We’re in the middle of nowhere, with no one to see us, traipsing along a highway. I doubt you need perfect lips.

Eva emerged from the car with a grin. You never know. Norma Jean Dougherty worked at an aircraft factory when she got discovered and look what happened to her.

They walked back toward where the map flew out of the car. Livy kept her gaze lowered, hoping to see it lying on the ground and not tangled in the brush.

She snorted. Leave it to Eva to bring the Hollywood sex goddess into the discussion. That’s not saying a lot. I met Marilyn, remember? I got the distinct impression she’d rather no one ‘discovered’ her at all and that she could freely live her life as Norma Jean. Life in the public eye leaves a lot to be desired. Heaven knows, this situation is a living-and-breathing testament to that fact, isn’t it?

That it is, sister. Eva stopped and waved her arms wide. The scruffy high weeds at the side of the road bent in the breeze. I think this is about where I lost it. So maybe we should walk a little more? It sailed back so I’d guess it’s somewhere over there. Pointing to the stretch of shoulder in front of them, she nodded. Sure, that’s the spot.

Nothing in the plan to make this getaway had indicated they’d be trudging along lonesome roadways. It didn’t fit her movie star lifestyle—not by a long stretch. Her back ached from driving and her stomach felt as empty as her last leading man’s head. Livy glanced at the high grass beside them. It gave her the willies. Who could ever tell what lurked in that mess?

Yoo hoo… Eva nudged