A Place to Stay: Wander Creek Book Two: Wander Creek

By Amy Ruth Allen

What happened to all the reasons she had to stay?

Abby runs a successful business in Wander Creek and has wonderful friends, including the irrepressible owner of the Wander Inn on the shores of the creek. Abby could stay here forever.

And the man in her life is kind, loving, and adventurous. A real man's man.

But then he sees something he wasn't supposed to see. She tries to explain, but his taillights are the last thing she sees of him for some time.

And the mean girl is back and determined to chase Abby out of Wander Creek. The trouble is the law is not on Abby's side.

But Abby isn't about to back down from a challenge. Especially since the mean girl has her sights set on Abby's beau. Or is it ex-beau?

Meanwhile, Abby finds herself in the middle of a magical mystery. But a dangerous situation makes Abby re-evaluate her life. Life is too precious to waste in arguments with people you love. But can Abby persuade her beau to give her a second chance?

Probably. Hopefully.

But then Abby sees something she wasn't supposed to see . . .

If you love wholesome women's fiction about enduring friendships and the fleeting moments of wonder and awe that can so easily pass us by, all against the backdrop of small-town living, you will fall in love with the Wander Creek series. Buy a Place to Stay now and begin your journey through this page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Ruth Allen
• Release date: Jul 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201794637

Amy Ruth Allen

I’m an American girl who grew up overseas, riding elephants in Thailand, dancing around the Maypole in Sweden, drinking tea in the United Kingdom, and touring castles across Europe. In these foreign (to me) and exotic locales, books were both my anchor and my escape. They connected me to my native land (and English-speakers in general), while introducing me to worlds even more awesome than the ones I lived in. Fast forward to present day in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I am the author of the small-town romance series Finch’s Crossing, seven non-fiction books for young adults, and the young adult novel, Stealing Away. In addition to writing fiction, non-fiction, and my blog, I support fellow indie authors by reviewing indie books.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

As she climbed the stairs to her apartment, Abby Barrett swore she would never wear heels again. It had been a busy day at the Paper Box, Abby’s stationery store in the tourist town of Wander Creek, and she barely had time to catch her breath, much less sit down. And after the shop closed, she had stayed very late to restock the shelves. The tourists had wiped out her inventory, which was a good problem to have. But with every step up the stairs, her feet screamed at her:  Wine! Slippers! Comfy PJs! 

After opening her apartment door, Abby flung off the offending strappy silver sandals. The relief was immediate. Shoes were the one vanity Abby kept from her former life, and she knew darn well that the next day she’d be in a pair of Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahniks. She couldn’t help herself. 

Before Abby could change out of her cream silk blouse and dress jeans or put her long, honey-colored hair in a top knot, her phone pinged with an incoming text from her friend, the irrepressible Mona Sixsmith. Mona was the American widow of an English Lord, absurdly wealthy and the owner of the Wander Inn, a luxury boutique hotel overlooking Wander Creek. 

Abby this is Mona. SOS. Come now.

Abby groaned. As much as she longed for a well-deserved cozy evening with her feet up, one did not ignore a text from Mona Sixsmith. Resigned to her fate, Abby dug out a pair of flats and headed out. 

Abby loved her life in Wander Creek, and Mona had been a big part of that. With Mona’s help, Abby had found a way to heal from her past and had made good friends who lifted her up instead of knocking her down. And then, of course, there was Ken Taylor, her new beau who owned and operated the most successful adventure and outdoor sports outfitter in the region, Northwoods. Abby reflexively glanced at her phone as she walked out the front door of her shop, locking it behind her. She had to remind herself that it might be a week until she heard from Ken. He was leading a tour and camping on the north shore of Lake Superior where cell service was sketchy at best. 

Abby walked quickly down Main Street toward the Inn. Although it was August, the evening was cool, one of the perks of living so far north in Minnesota. It was hard to know what an SOS from Mona meant. It was possible, but not terribly likely, that it could be a true emergency, and as Abby walked, she scanned the sky for billowing smoke. Nothing. So that meant it was probably a Mona emergency, which was less crisis and more dramatics.

Getting involved with Mona’s schemes was both terrifying and fun. Abby felt she would pretty much always come when Mona beckoned. The seventy-something aristocrat had been very supportive of Abby when she moved to Wander Creek and opened the Paper Box. In many ways they were kindred spirits. They had both left large, luxurious lifestyles—though for very different reasons—and now found themselves in similar and smaller circumstances. However, Mona still wore Chanel, and after selling most of her designer wardrobe, Abby was now more of an outlet mall kind of gal. Except for shoes. She refused to skimp on shoes. 

Abby turned right onto Maple Lane from Main Street and the magnificent Wander Inn came into view. No flames were shooting out of the windows. No puddles of water pooled around the foundation. These were good signs. 

Built in the 1920s by a captain of industry who made his fortune in iron ore, the building was solidly constructed from stone and local timber, and partially clad in rich brown cedar shakes. The many and varied rooflines and windows were smartly trimmed in fresh white paint. Abby never tired of looking at the historic building that Mona kept in pristine condition. The original owner and his wife had ten children and needed a massive home for themselves and their servants, which Mona had converted into guestrooms and a small private apartment for herself. The Inn had several parlors and an elegant dining room. Every afternoon at four, Mona served a traditional British high tea. 

Abby walked up the circular drive and through a break in the expertly trimmed hedges that wrapped around the front and side lawns of the Inn. An impressive white-columned portico framed a massive pair of oak doors flanked by two large bay windows. No water seeped out from under the doors. Another good sign.  

Abby entered the Inn and walked through the sophisticated and tastefully decorated lobby and hurried to the back of the house, through the glass-walled solarium, startling a few guests who were sitting and reading quietly, then outside to the back lawn. She scanned the area for a sign of Mona. At the firepit on the lawn by the creek, the Inn’s chef Telluride, affectionately called Telly, helped guests arrange Adirondack chairs so they could enjoy the evening as dusk settled over them. Abby spotted Mona at the end of the lawn peering over the creek with what looked like binoculars. 

 What on earth? Don’t tell me Mona took me away from my cozy evening for some rare bird sighting.

What is it? Abby asked breathlessly as she hurried to stand next to Mona who whispered a greeting. 

Why are we whispering? Abby asked. 

Look directly across the creek at the stone overlook, Mona instructed. "There’s a man playing a saxophone and kind of, well, dancing. I think the song is That’s Life. Frank Sinatra made it famous in the sixties. Do you see the light?" 

Mona handed Abby the binoculars. Abby put them to her eyes and turned the knob to focus on the overlook. "I’m pretty sure he is dancing, but he’s alone, Abby said. Looks like the light is coming from a camping lantern he put on top of the stone wall. She handed the binoculars back to Mona. The music sure carries well over the water. It’s really haunting. How long has he been there?" 

I was down at the firepit with Telly getting the guests settled for their S’mores when I heard the music. It was beautiful. I could barely see him, so that’s when I ran and got the binoculars and texted you. I could see the man dancing clear as day, but now with the sun going down it’s getting harder to see him. He’s just a silhouette now, but you can still make out his long black coat and that little Fedora hat. 

Oh wait, look at that, Abby exclaimed The music’s stopped and I think he just lit a cigar. Both women studied the small glow of orange that faded in and out. Is this the first time you’ve seen him? Or heard him? 

Well, last week about this same time I was out on the back lawn, and I thought I heard music, but only briefly. I must have just dismissed it. But now, I’m guessing it must have been him that I heard. It’s funny to think that just across the creek this mystery man is pouring out his music to the world, like a gift. Oh look, the lantern went out. 

Do you think he saw us? Abby whispered, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

Mona shrugged. I would think that if we could see him, he could see us—if he was even paying any attention to this side of the creek. He seemed pretty absorbed in what he was doing. 

Any guesses as to who it is? Abby asked. Or how old he is? 

I have no idea. But I’m going to call him the Frank Sinatra Man, Mona informed her. 

You’ve got to be really sad and lonely to go to a deserted overlook at twilight to dance alone and play a saxophone, Abby said. It’s sort of heartbreaking. 

Our very own mystery man, Mona mused. We have got to get to the bottom of this. 

Who do you mean by ‘we’? Abby asked.  

You, Jessica and me for starters, Mona said, referring to Jessica Lake, Abby’s friend and owner of the Life and Style home goods boutique. Mona looked at her watch. I first heard the music about nine-fifteen, I believe. So exactly a week from today, let’s meet here at nine just to be on the safe side, in case he comes back. In the meantime, I’m going to send Billie to Northwoods in the morning to buy some spotting scopes for us. 

Spotting scopes? Abby asked. 

 Hunters use them to see where their bullets hit on the target when they are sighting in their rifles, or to see game from way off. You can get particularly fancy ones and they even make them with night vision technology. We’ll get a few tripods to mount them on. They will give us a much better look at him than handheld binoculars. 

Abby gazed at Mona, who was dressed in a designer pink wrap dress and dripping with diamond jewelry. She didn’t seem to care that her patent leather heels were sinking into the grass. The juxtaposition of Mona’s impeccable fashion sense and hunting lingo was comical. 

How do you know so much about this? Abby asked, then added, Never mind. I know. The hunting and fishing widows. Abby referred to the women who stayed at the Wander Inn while their husbands hunted, fished, and ice fished in the area. 

Mona gazed toward the overlook for a moment, then began to give orders in her typical administrative way. Chop chop, she said, using her trademark phrase. No more lollygagging around. There is a lot to do tomorrow. Don’t forget you’re coming in the evening for my gathering. Please don’t be late. You know how much I hate that. 

As if Mona would ever let anyone forget anything. 

As their conversation wound to an end, darkness began to overtake the Inn. Twilight and the mystery man were gone. Abby walked home contemplating this small but magical moment she had just experienced. She and Mona had made an odd sort of connection with a stranger in a few awe-filled minutes that so easily could have passed them by. 

This was Abby’s first summer in Wander Creek. The previous autumn, a mysterious benefactor had gifted her a building on Main Street and seed money to start a business. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to escape her Minneapolis life where she had become a financially challenged and much-hated social pariah because her ex-husband had pulled a Ponzi scheme of Bernie Madoff proportions. Jake was now serving time in federal prison. 

It was now the last week of August, and the northerly breeze from Lake Superior made itself known with gusty swooshes as far north as Wander Creek. The trees on the shores of the creek had just started thinking about transforming their leaves into the brilliance of fall.  

For the next week, Abby would wait on the last of the summer visitors who had come to northern Minnesota for the many outdoor activities, from kayaking and tubing to ATV-ing and boating. All year-round, when they weren’t outside adventuring, families and couples strolled around the quaint town, with its cozy Main Street, one-of-a-kind boutiques and restaurants, plus water-front park and walking paths.  

There would be a short downturn in business at the Paper Box until the leaves began to work their magic and visitors returned in droves to soak in the glorious colors and enjoy the hiking trails. During peak tourist seasons, Abby sometimes had trouble keeping up with stock that seemed to fly off the shelves overnight.  

With the help of her former boss and friend, Carmen, who owned the Paperie stationery store in Minneapolis, Abby had designed a bright and airy shop filled with all manner of paper items, from greeting cards and wrapping paper to cocktail napkins and office supplies. She stocked clever little items for the culinary expert, wine lovers, pen and notebook fanatics, and professional women who liked their office accessories to be both functional and beautiful. Abby stocked gifts for men and children, too, and even crafters and scrapbookers. She always had paper items on hand to celebrate the seasons, from Thanksgiving-themed paper plates and dinner napkins to blank journals heralding a fresh New Year’s start. She poured over vendor sites and lovingly selected almost every item herself.  

August also meant, apparently, that it was time to vote for Miss Wander Creek, a contest Abby had missed the previous year since she had not arrived in the town until November. 

On Main Street, shop owners made creative ballot boxes and encouraged shoppers to vote for their favorite Wander Creek resident. Anyone could vote, and even though it was frowned upon, voting more than once was not forbidden. Store owners gave away a raffle prize to a winner drawn from the names in their boxes. This was an incentive for shoppers to provide their names and email addresses in exchange for a chance to win a prize. It also gave the shop owners new customers for their mailing lists. It was a win-win. 

At the Paper Box, Abby threw herself into the project. She wanted to support the community that had embraced her, and who didn’t want to bring in extra shoppers? Abby covered a shoe box with pretty robin’s egg blue fabric to match the décor in her store. She used a box cutter to make a slit in the top and glued the fabric edges on the underside of the lid so the edges wouldn’t fray. Abby was nothing if not a perfectionist. She glued on some colored pencils and small gift tags, all artfully arranged on the exterior of the box. Sam Nelson, her one employee, created a very professional looking sign, printed it out and slipped it into a plexiglass frame. They added a small box with slips of paper and a pen. She finally placed the ballot box on the display table at the front of the store. It was very eye-catching. 

Think people will vote? Abby asked. 

I’m sure of it, because of your raffle prize, Sam had explained. Most shop owners offer something cheesy. But your hundred-dollar gift certificate gets people pumped. By the way, are you going to vote? 

Of course, Abby said. But I’m not sure who to vote for since there isn’t a slate of contestants. This has got to be the strangest beauty contest I’ve ever come across. 

It’s not a beauty contest, Sam corrected her. It’s a way to draw customers into the shops to vote for their favorite person in Wander Creek. It usually ends up being a store owner since so many tourists vote. Last year Jessica won. She’s got that bubbly personality that people respond to. Sam approached a display table with an armful of vegan leather journals that were popular with Millennial and eco-conscious shoppers. Everyone is betting on you this year, Sam said to Abby as she arranged the books in an attractive fan shape.  

I haven’t even been here a year, Abby observed. "There’s no way I’ll win. No way I should win." 

Sam glanced over her shoulder. You never know. Someone might be stuffing the ballot boxes around town, she said, winking at Abby. 

Sam! Abby admonished. That’s terrible. 

Not really, she said. Besides, I had a lot of fun practicing with different handwritings. I used some of the different pens on the sales floor. No one will ever know. 

Lord have mercy, Abby said, laughing. 

Every year Naomi gets one vote, Sam continued, referencing her cousin and former boss at the Beanery coffee shop, as well as the self-proclaimed enemy of Abby. Naomi Dale was convinced that Abby had stolen the building just as Naomi was about to purchase it. There was no truth in that, but there was no convincing Naomi when she was on a tirade. Abby kept a wide berth. 

Now how do you know Naomi only gets one vote? Abby asked. That has got to be in violation of the contest rules. 

Rules? Sam guffawed. There are no rules. This is a free for all. Shoppers come into the store. People vote. The tourists love it and the winner rides in a really lame parade that lasts five minutes, followed by a pie reception. 

That last part sounds good, Abby said. Better than a lame parade. But it also sounds like fun. But you didn’t answer my question. How do you know that Naomi only gets one vote a year? 

Sarah Beth the postmistress and the police chief count the ballots. Sam crossed her middle and pointer