The Last Chance Motel E-Book

Karen Hawkins

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 168

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Every big romance deserves a second chance. But Evan and Jessica Cho Graham are looking at the last chance: more specifically, The Last Chance Motel in Dove Pond, NC where Jessica has escaped to start a happily independent life, separate from her smart, sexy, but driven husband. Evan has been wildly successful in every endeavor, except keeping the heart of the one woman he loves more than anything. If he's going to repair this mess, he's going to need all the help he can get—even if it's from the crankiest handyman in B&B history—to turn his second chance with Jess into a perfect storybook happy ending. *previously published in the I LOVED YOU FIRST anthology*

Leseprobe

The Last Chance Motel

Karen Hawkins

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Last Chance Motel by Karen Hawkins

Copyright © 2020 Karen Hawkins

Ebook ISBN: 9781641971850

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001

http://www.nyliterary.com

Contents

The Last Chance Motel

Karen Hawkins

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

Discover More by Karen Hawkins

About the Author

The Last Chance Motel

Karen Hawkins

“Ideas, like ghosts, must be spoken to a little

before they will explain themselves.”

—Charles Dickens

1

Evan

Fighting the urge to cuss up a storm, Evan Graham watched as the tow truck pulled his car out of the parking lot of The Last Chance Motel. The late afternoon sun glinted off his beautiful Jaguar, steam still slipping out from under the shiny blue hood.

Evan’s cell phone rang and he glanced at it, ASHLEY C flashing on the screen. Ashley Carr was the new Vice President of Graham Industries. Evan had promoted her just last week after his previous Vice President, Brad King, had been stolen away by a corporate headhunter.

That loss had been a shock, an ugly one. Although Ashley was sharp and more than capable of doing the job, Brad had been with the company since Day One and Evan missed him.

His cell rang again, seeming shrill in the empty parking lot. Evan hit answer. “Hello. What’s up?”

“Uh oh,” Ashley said. “You sound mad.”

“That’s because I am. My Jaguar broke down.” Evan watched as the tow truck turned a corner and disappeared from sight. “I’m stuck without wheels until tomorrow, and maybe longer if the mechanic can’t get the parts.” Which is just great.

“Should I send a car?”

“You can’t. I’m not in Atlanta. I’m in North Carolina.”

“Ooooh. You went to see Jess.”

To Evan’s growing irritation, he detected a hint of hope in Ashley’s voice.

When it came to his wife, it was painfully obvious which side his employees were on, and it wasn’t his. Not that he blamed them. Jess had one of those warm, funny personalities that people instinctively loved. She made people smile just by walking through the door. And by “people” he meant everyone, including him.

His chest tightened. God, these last two weeks since Jess had left him had been hell. “Look, Ash, I’ve got to go. Did you need something?”

“The Goodman/Feingold merger contract came in. I thought you’d want to see it, but it can wait.”

“Send it on.”

Ash hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s Friday afternoon and you’re there to see Jess. Surely you aren’t going to—”

“Send it,” Evan said impatiently. “I want to make sure the new provisions were included.”

“Yes, but I can do that so you can focus on Jess.” At his silence, Ash gave a sharp sigh. “Sending it now.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I see any problems.” He hung up and then slipped his hand into his suit pocket where a jewelry box and two first class plane tickets rested. He hadn’t come to just see his wife, but to sweep her off her feet. If everything went as he hoped, he and Jess would be back home by this time tomorrow, packing for their coming trip. He’d have plenty of time to look through the contract then.

He glanced up at the sign that hung over the old one-story motel. Sprawling 1950s font spelled out The Last Chance Motel, half of the neon lights either broken or burned out. The name of the motel made him wince. I hope this isn’t my last chance, not with Jess. I can’t accept that.

Two weeks ago, he’d been at his desk, neck deep in a conference call when a military-looking man had walked into Evan’s office. “Evan Graham?” The man had held up a large manila envelope with a signature receipt taped to the top.

Evan, still on the phone about a legal issue involving a new client, had figured the guy was a courier. They saw plenty of them in the office, so Evan didn’t think much of it. He just took the envelope and, without looking at it, scribbled his name on the receipt. The guy took the receipt, nodded his thanks, and went on his way.

While still listening to the client, Evan had opened the envelope, expecting to see contracts or perhaps a memo detailing some phase of one of their many projects. Instead, what he’d found was a set of divorce papers.

A few years before, Evan had been in a business meeting in San Francisco when an earthquake hit, the entire building swaying wildly. He’d never forgotten the unsettling feeling of the floor moving under his feet, but seeing those papers had shaken him even more.

He’d headed home immediately, ready to promise to go to whatever counselor Jess wanted, only to discover that she’d already moved out. Seeing the divorce papers had rattled him; but standing in her empty closet in their silent house had chilled his soul.

He couldn’t say Jess hadn’t warned him. She’d been asking him to go to a marriage counselor for over a year, and he’d meant to—he really had. But what with the new investors, the mergers he was overseeing, and a million other things, the request had gotten shuttled to a back burner, and he’d eventually forgotten about it.

To be honest, he didn’t believe they needed a counselor, so much as a little time to reconnect. He loved Jess and always had. And he was certain she felt the same. Or he had been until he’d gotten those papers.

It hadn’t taken him long to figure out where she was. For the last four months, Jess had been working on an old motel she’d bought, planning to turn it into a boutique sort of B&B. The motel was in Dove Pond, a tiny-almost forgotten town that sat at the foot of Black Mountain about a half hour outside of Asheville. Since he and Jess lived in Atlanta, she’d been spending a week now and then at the motel overseeing the renovations.

Jess had an affinity with Dove Pond as it was close to where she’d grown up and most of her family still lived nearby. In fact, she used to speak fondly of having family reunions in this very town, at the house of a favorite aunt and uncle.

Once she’d gotten the renovations moving on the motel, she’d asked Evan to come with her and check out the property, but he’d stupidly laughed it off, saying he was sure she had everything under control. He winced as he remembered the disappointment on her face as he’d shrugged off her request. He hadn’t done it just once either, but multiple times. I’m a fool, that’s all there is to it.

And now she was gone. Despite dozens of phone calls and bouquets of flowers, none of which had made a difference, he’d been left behind, alone with a manila envelope of papers he didn’t want, and a house he used to love but now found as cold and welcoming as a tomb.

So here he was, standing in front of Jess’s big project, The Last Chance Motel. It didn’t look like much, this old motel. In fact, if he had to describe it, the words “decrepit” and “ramshackle” came to mind.

“Woo, boy!” called out a rough, craggy voice. “I about cried, seeing a car like that being towed off.”

Evan turned to see a grizzled old man sitting on a bench beside the motel office door, his long white hair uncombed. He wore overalls and a faded red T-shirt, his feet encased in a pair of worn work boots. His clothes and the rake that leaned against the wall at his side identified him as hired help.

Evan realized the old man was waiting for an answer, so he forced a smile. “She’s a terrific car.”

“A real pity to see a nice car broken down like that.” The man leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him. “What sort of car was that, anyway? I don’t believe I’ve seen one like it.”

“A 1974 Jaguar E-Type Series III Roadster.” Evan didn’t mention that Jess had given him the car for their fifth wedding anniversary. She’d always given him the most phenomenal gifts. He wished he could say he’d done the same, but after the first four or five years, he’d gotten so busy that he’d fallen into the regretful habit of having his secretary order “something sparkly” from Cartier.

An all-too-familiar feeling of regret pressed against his chest. No matter the circumstances, even knowing he deserved it, the thought of spending the rest of his life without Jess was painful.

“Easy there,” the old man said. “Looked more like steam coming out from under the hood than smoke. Reckon all she needs is a radiator hose. That shouldn’t cost much.”

Cost wasn’t the problem. “I hope it’s a swift fix.”

The old man nodded in agreement, his bright blue gaze assessing Evan as if taking his measure. “Your car reminded me of one I used to have. I called her Gertrude.”

Evan eyed the old man with new interest. “You had a Jaguar?”

“Lord no, but Gertrude was that exact same shade of blue. I loved that car.” The old man, still reclined against the wall as if he had nowhere to go and nothing much to do, laced his hands over his paunch. “I don’t believe I introduced myself, did I? I’m Doyle Cloyd. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Evan said, trying to swallow his impatience. “You’ll excuse me if I seem distracted, but I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do now that my car is out of commission.”

“Left you high and dry, did she?”

And then some. “The second I drove past the Welcome to Dove Pond sign, something under the hood popped and steam came rolling out. Even worse,” Evan added sourly, “it appears there’s only one mechanic in this town. I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“Trav Parker’s as good of a mechanic as his dad Bob was, maybe even better. And old Bob Parker kept Gertrude on the road for years. She was a 1983 Cutlass Supreme and a class act. I think of her every time I see that pond.”

Evan’s gaze followed the old man’s. A crystal blue pond sat at the end of the long parking lot. Tall maples and oaks clustered to one side, while a deep green expanse of velvet grass led to an inviting dock. The old, one-story motel might be run-down—paint peeling, shutters hanging from broken latches, weeds and daisies poking through cracks in the asphalt parking lot—but the land it sat on was stunningly beautiful. “This is a gorgeous piece of property.”

“Yes, it is. That pond’s spring fed and clear as glass, too. When my poor Gertrude was fifteen feet under that water, you could still see every rivet.”

“Your car ended up in this pond?”

“She went in right there by the dock.” Doyle chuckled ruefully as he stood and picked up the rake. His work boots crunched on loose gravel as he crossed the parking lot and came to stand beside Evan. “My wife Barbara and I had just had a huge fight. She stormed out of the house and got herself a room here. This place was something back then. Always busy.” The old man’s gaze moved back to the motel, and a soft, half smile rested on his craggy face. “These walls have seen it all—love and betrayal, happiness and sadness, new and old. A little bit of everything.”

“It’s hard to believe it was ever successful with a name like The Last Chance Motel.”

“From the 1950s until well into the ‘70s, if you were on your way to the Blue Ridge Parkway from the main road, this motel was your last chance for a room.”

Evan supposed that made sense. “I didn’t realize the Blue Ridge Parkway was that old.”

“They started building her in 1935 over on Cumberland Knob, so I’d guess you could call her ‘old.’” Doyle rested his crossed arms on the top of the rake handle. “I’ve always treasured old things. I guess that’s because I am one.”

Evan had no idea how to answer that. “That’s all very interesting, but do you happen to know Je—"

“Yup, I lost Gertrude right there,” Doyle said as if he hadn’t heard Evan. “I came to see Barbara after our argument and found her standing at the end of the dock. I thought she was reflecting on our life together, but nope, she was staring down at poor Gertrude and was still mad as a wet hen.”

Despite being impatient to find Jess, Evan couldn’t keep from asking, “Your car ended up in that pond on purpose?”

“Barbara said she accidentally left Gertrude in neutral and didn’t realize it. But I don’t know.” Doyle scratched the white whiskers on his chin, the sound surprisingly loud. “Barbara wasn’t the sort of woman you should cross.”

“I’d be furious if that happened to one of my cars.”

“It was just a car. To be honest, Barbara had a right to be mad. I was young and stupid and said some things I shouldn’t have.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “We don’t always make the best decisions when we’re young and stupid, do we?”

The old man couldn’t possibly know why Evan was here today, but the question, rhetorical as it was, felt oddly pointed. “Whatever happened, I’m sorry to hear about Gertrude.”

Doyle flickered a sad smile toward the pond as if he could still see someone standing out on the dock. “I miss my wife a heck of a lot more than I ever missed that car.”

Evan’s chest tightened. The last two weeks had given him a brief look at life without Jess, and it was hollow and colorless. He’d lost his appetite completely and hadn’t been able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, their king-sized bed cold and empty. But it was even worse to think about Jess being really gone, forever out of touch. “No.”

The old man’s pale blue gaze locked on Evan. “Pardon me?”

Evan flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “I’m sorry about your wife. They become a part of us in a lot of ways.” Sometimes in ways you don’t even realize. The need to see Jess was suddenly that much stronger. “I’m looking for Mrs. Jessica Graham. Do you know where she is?”

“Graham?” Doyle leaned on his rake, his brows knitting. “Don’t know any Grahams.”

Evan frowned. “She has to be here. She owns this motel.”

“Oh. You must mean Miss Jessica Cho.”

Evan bit back a string of invectives. Jess is already using her maiden name. I haven’t even signed those stupid papers yet! His gaze dropped to his hand where his wedding ring glimmered in the late afternoon sun.

He suddenly realized Doyle was watching, so Evan forced himself to shrug as if he hadn’t just been emotionally gut punched. “Jessica Cho. That’s her.”

“She’s in the office.” Doyle slanted a curious look at Evan. “I guess you knew her when she was married. Whew, that man must have been a piece of work, to let a woman like Miss Jess go.”

“Maybe it wasn’t up to him.”

“Baloney. If he’d wanted to keep her, he’d have found a way to do it, just as I found a way to make things right with Barbara.”

Impatient, Evan looked at the office. The windows and doors of the motel had been replaced, although only the office door had been painted. It was Jess’s favorite color, a teal blue, the word OFFICE written across the frosted upper glass in welcoming yellow script.

Their house in Atlanta had touches of teal here and there, but until this second, he hadn’t realized how much he’d associated that color with Jess.

It hit him that he’d been quiet for far too long, so he turned to say goodbye to Doyle, but only a wide expanse of empty, cracked parking lot met Evan’s gaze.

The old codger must have wandered off, which was just fine with Evan. There was only one person he wanted to talk to, and it wasn’t Doyle Cloyd.

Evan adjusted his silk tie and walked toward the lobby, pausing when he caught sight of the rake leaning back beside the door, where it had started. How had that old man replaced the rake without Evan seeing him? That’s odd.

Shaking off an uneasy feeling, Evan reached the lobby door. The second he stepped inside, he forgot about the rake. As broken down and worn out as the exterior of the motel was, the lobby was as luxurious and inviting as any high-end boutique hotel in New York or even Paris. The floor was a dark, gleaming hardwood. A mahogany check-in counter stood across from him, topped with a thick slab of Carrara marble that gleamed under hand-blown red pendant lights. The lounge area to his left featured a sumptuous leather settee flanked by two heavily stuffed red chairs and a thick oriental rug. Every surface suggested bespoke opulence and left Evan feeling as if he’d walked onto a movie set rather than an old, already-dead motel.

“Evan?”

The low, honey-toned voice hit him like a ton of bricks. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before slowly turning around.

Jess stood in the doorway behind the counter, her long black hair pulled into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, her copper-framed reading glasses low on her nose. Holding a spreadsheet and a red pen, she wore jeans and a faded blue UNC-Asheville sweatshirt, her hazel eyes wide with surprise.

God, but I’ve missed her so much. He’d known that, of course, but seeing her made him realize yet again the depth of aching loneliness she’d left behind.

Her surprise melted into a frown. “What are you doing here?”

His heart thumping an odd gait, he managed a grin. “Surprise, Sunshine!” When they’d first gotten married, he’d called her Sunshine more than Jess.

She apparently didn’t care for the reminder, because a flicker of irritation crossed her face before she turned away, moving past the desk. Her hip brushed a file perched there, knocking it to the floor. Papers scattered everywhere and she gave them a quick, impatient look, but made no move to gather them, instead locking her exasperated gaze on him. “Why are you here?”

That was less than welcoming. He wished he could call her tone “warm,” but there was enough ice in it to cut. “I came to see you.”

“Evan, no.” She dropped her spreadsheet and red pen beside the family photos that surrounded her computer. “I don’t want to see you. Not yet.”

His gaze moved to her left hand. No rings shimmered on her finger where they belonged, which made his chest ache anew. He moved his gaze back to her face. “Come on, Jess. We have to talk. Face-to-face and not on the phone.”

“I told you last night that I don’t have anything more to say.” She started collecting the papers that had been knocked to the floor. As she stacked them back on the desk, he noticed that her hands trembled the slightest bit.

He wished he knew how to take that—was it a good sign? A bad sign? He wasn’t sure. Damn, when had he lost the ability to read her? Maybe I never could.

At that depressing thought, the now-familiar wave of uncertainty gripped him, the same one that had held him since the moment he’d seen those stupid divorce papers.

That was the problem with being the one left behind. It put a dent in one’s confidence that matched the size of the person who’d walked away. And although Jess was barely five feet tall, she had a personality as big as a mountain.