Read Online Christmas on the Last Frontier (Last Frontier Lodge #1) by J.H. Croix - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J.H. Croix
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one of the buildings.
Hours later, he leaned against the steel table that ran through the center of the main kitchen at the lodge. As a boy, he recalled this room as a bustle of activity from dawn until late at night. He’d made his way through stacks of faded cards with phone numbers from the old staff at the lodge. Though it had been many years since any of them would have worked here, Gage figured it was worth a shot to do some reconnaissance to find out if any former employees were still in town. The further he got into the work of his dream to reopen the lodge, the more he realized he needed help, lots of help.
His vision of reopening the lodge was turning out to be rather vague. He’d convinced himself he’d do the hard work of repairs and the lodge would magically open. Thanks to Marley, he had help with the online side of things, but he needed a functioning restaurant, staff to handle the hotel guests, and staff on the slopes. The coffee maker beeped, and he strode over and poured a cup. He liked his coffee strong and black—no frills. He walked from the kitchen into the office and started perusing the list of names he’d found.
“Hello?”
He whirled around in his chair to find an older man standing in the doorway. The man was tall, lean and weathered. Gage thought he was familiar, but he couldn’t place him.
“Hi there, can I help you?” Gage asked.
The man removed the faded baseball cap he wore and eyed Gage. “Gage Hamilton?”
Gage nodded slowly. “That’s me.”
The man’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that instantly shifted to a chuckle. “Well, well. I heard from the guys at the hardware store you were up here doing all kinds of work. I’m guessing you don’t remember me.”
Gage eyed the man. “You look familiar, but if you know who I am, then you know I haven’t been here in about twenty years. I’m not up to speed on who’s who. Care to refresh my memory?”
The man stepped into the room. Gage stood to meet him, reaching out to shake his hand. “Don Peters. I worked for your grandparents for years, mostly running the lifts and doing slope work, but I helped out on the grounds during the rest of the year. My wife ran the kitchen during ski season.”
Gage’s memory clicked. “Oh yes! I remember you now. Good to see you. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing for Don to sit in one of the chairs at the table nearby.
He grabbed his cup of coffee and followed him over. “Would you like some coffee? Can’t say I can even come close to what your wife used to do around here, but I can make coffee.”
Don shook his head. “No thanks. Just thought I’d drop in and take a look around.” His eyes traveled around the sparsely furnished office and through the door into the empty restaurant. When his eyes made it back around the room to Gage’s, they held a hint of sadness. “Damn, it’s been a long time. Hard to see this place empty.”
Don shifted in his chair. Gage experienced a pang, recognizing that while he’d only known this man in passing when he was young, Don had been a fixture at the ski lodge. Gage remembered Don’s wife, Sandy, well. He’d spent many a snowy afternoon running in and out of the kitchen looking for whatever scraps of food Sandy would provide. She often made them sandwiches for lunch and snuck him bits and pieces of fancier dishes on big nights at the lodge. His memory was of a warm, soft woman, her hair always worn in a braid that swung over her shoulder, her bright brown eyes kind and smiling.
“I remember your wife. She was always feeding me and my brothers and sisters. Sandy, right?”
The sadness in Don’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t look away. He nodded brusquely. “Sandy wanted to feed the world, and she mostly did around here in Diamond Creek. She loved you kids. She, uh, passed away three years ago. Pancreatic cancer. By the time they found it, it was too late. Though we learned not many people survive that kind of
Hours later, he leaned against the steel table that ran through the center of the main kitchen at the lodge. As a boy, he recalled this room as a bustle of activity from dawn until late at night. He’d made his way through stacks of faded cards with phone numbers from the old staff at the lodge. Though it had been many years since any of them would have worked here, Gage figured it was worth a shot to do some reconnaissance to find out if any former employees were still in town. The further he got into the work of his dream to reopen the lodge, the more he realized he needed help, lots of help.
His vision of reopening the lodge was turning out to be rather vague. He’d convinced himself he’d do the hard work of repairs and the lodge would magically open. Thanks to Marley, he had help with the online side of things, but he needed a functioning restaurant, staff to handle the hotel guests, and staff on the slopes. The coffee maker beeped, and he strode over and poured a cup. He liked his coffee strong and black—no frills. He walked from the kitchen into the office and started perusing the list of names he’d found.
“Hello?”
He whirled around in his chair to find an older man standing in the doorway. The man was tall, lean and weathered. Gage thought he was familiar, but he couldn’t place him.
“Hi there, can I help you?” Gage asked.
The man removed the faded baseball cap he wore and eyed Gage. “Gage Hamilton?”
Gage nodded slowly. “That’s me.”
The man’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that instantly shifted to a chuckle. “Well, well. I heard from the guys at the hardware store you were up here doing all kinds of work. I’m guessing you don’t remember me.”
Gage eyed the man. “You look familiar, but if you know who I am, then you know I haven’t been here in about twenty years. I’m not up to speed on who’s who. Care to refresh my memory?”
The man stepped into the room. Gage stood to meet him, reaching out to shake his hand. “Don Peters. I worked for your grandparents for years, mostly running the lifts and doing slope work, but I helped out on the grounds during the rest of the year. My wife ran the kitchen during ski season.”
Gage’s memory clicked. “Oh yes! I remember you now. Good to see you. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing for Don to sit in one of the chairs at the table nearby.
He grabbed his cup of coffee and followed him over. “Would you like some coffee? Can’t say I can even come close to what your wife used to do around here, but I can make coffee.”
Don shook his head. “No thanks. Just thought I’d drop in and take a look around.” His eyes traveled around the sparsely furnished office and through the door into the empty restaurant. When his eyes made it back around the room to Gage’s, they held a hint of sadness. “Damn, it’s been a long time. Hard to see this place empty.”
Don shifted in his chair. Gage experienced a pang, recognizing that while he’d only known this man in passing when he was young, Don had been a fixture at the ski lodge. Gage remembered Don’s wife, Sandy, well. He’d spent many a snowy afternoon running in and out of the kitchen looking for whatever scraps of food Sandy would provide. She often made them sandwiches for lunch and snuck him bits and pieces of fancier dishes on big nights at the lodge. His memory was of a warm, soft woman, her hair always worn in a braid that swung over her shoulder, her bright brown eyes kind and smiling.
“I remember your wife. She was always feeding me and my brothers and sisters. Sandy, right?”
The sadness in Don’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t look away. He nodded brusquely. “Sandy wanted to feed the world, and she mostly did around here in Diamond Creek. She loved you kids. She, uh, passed away three years ago. Pancreatic cancer. By the time they found it, it was too late. Though we learned not many people survive that kind of
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