Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and glance at the screen. It’s a message—from him.
I hear you’re trying to play innkeeper now. Good luck. You’ll be back in the city before winter hits.
My stomach tightens, and I grip the phone hard enough to whiten my knuckles. I want to scream. I want to throw the damn thing across the room and watch it shatter like the windows here. But instead, I shove it back into my pocket, refusing to let him get the satisfaction of a reaction from me. He’s not going to define me. Not anymore.
But his words stick, lingering like poison in my veins. What if he’s right? What if I fail? The thought digs deep, clawing at the resolve I’ve tried so hard to hold onto.
I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I can’t give up. I didn’t come all this way just to crawl back to the city with my tail between my legs. This inn may be falling apart, but I’ve been in worse places before, and I didn’t fall apart. I won’t fall apart now.
I open my eyes, my gaze sweeping over the dusty room again. It needs work. A lot of work. But so do I. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe rebuilding this place, brick by brick, will help me rebuild myself. Or maybe it will all crumble, and I’ll be left standing in the wreckage.
Either way, I’m not turning back.
I pull out my phone again, this time with purpose. I scroll through the local directory, looking for help. Electricians. I need an electrician. My finger hovers over the first name that pops up: Steele Electric.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. Steele. How fitting.
With one last glance at the inn, I tap the number and bring the phone to my ear.
“Alright, Copper Mountain,” I mutter, the smirk spreading into something more confident, more determined, “show me what you’ve got.”
The phone rings once. Twice. Then a deep voice answers.
“Steele Electric, how can I help you?”
That voice. Rich, smooth, with just enough grit to make my pulse quicken. I bite my lip, my hand tightening around the phone.
“I need someone to come fix the wiring at the old inn.”
A pause, then, “That place? Thought it was condemned.”
“Not yet,” I say, my voice steady, though I can’t help the thrill that runs through me at the sound of his chuckle.
“Well, I can come by and take a look. Shouldn’t be too hard to get it back up and running.”
My heart beats a little faster. Maybe it’s his voice, or maybe it’s the fact that this is the first step in making this place—my place—come alive again. Either way, I feel it.
“When can you come?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, but I know I’m failing. There’s an edge there. A bit of eagerness I can’t quite suppress.
“Tomorrow morning work for you?”
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “That works.”
“Alright, see you then.”
The call ends, and I’m left standing in the quiet lobby, the phone still pressed to my ear. I lower it slowly, staring at the dust-covered floor, but I don’t feel that creeping doubt anymore. I feel... something else. Something that stirs just beneath the surface, something I can’t quite name yet.
But as I look around the old inn, I know one thing for sure.
This place isn’t dead. And neither am I.
Chapter Two
Archer
I push open the door to the Copper Country Café, and the bell above my head jingles in a way that makes me feel like I never left. The warmth of the place hits me, cozy and familiar, like a worn-in flannel on a cold mountain morning. I’ve walked through this door a thousand times, but today it feels different. Like something is waiting for me, though hell if I know what.
The smell of coffee and bacon hangs thick in the air, wrapping around me like a second skin. I close my eyes, letting the scent settle deep in my bones. It’s one of those smells that makes everything feel right in the world. Solid. Dependable. The kind of smell that reminds me why I’ve stayed in Copper Mountain all these years while everyone else dreams of bigger, flashier places.
My brothers are already in the back corner, their usual spot. They’ve claimed it like some kind of throne room, a little slice of territory that the rest of the cafe knows to avoid. I can see Creed, King, and Barron from here, their heads bent low as they throw back coffee like it’s the lifeblood of the Steele family. Creed’s lounging with that cocky grin on his face, the one that says he’s always got the upper hand, even when he doesn’t. King is tearing through a stack of pancakes like he’s racing the clock, and Barron, well, he’s doing what Barron does best—scowling like the world owes him something.