Christmas With Carlie. Julianna Morris

was my understanding I’d rented the entire house.”

      Confusion flitted across her face. “Did someone at Poppy Gold tell you that?”

      “I didn’t speak to anyone here. My executive assistant made the arrangements. She said—”

      Luke stopped abruptly and gritted his teeth. Actually, all Tilly had said was that they were staying at the John Muir Cottage. Which, despite being called a cottage, was actually a large, rambling Victorian. He’d simply assumed they’d have the entire house and all the amenities he was accustomed to having when he traveled.

      Damn it, Tilly knew the locations where he took the girls always had a full staff, from housekeepers to nannies. She’d mentioned they’d have to eat out for lunch and dinner, but that was all.

      “Mr. Forrester, I assure you the Yosemite suite is quite spacious,” Christine explained earnestly. “There are three bedrooms upstairs, and downstairs you have a smaller bedroom, a family room, front living room, powder room, kitchen and laundry. Each bedroom also has a private bath.”

      The comment Luke had made to Tilly about modern plumbing flitted through his mind. It hadn’t occurred to him that some of the bedrooms might not have a private bath.

      “Very well,” he said tensely. There was little else he could do. It was unlikely that other suitable accommodations were available in the small town and returning to Austin would just upset the girls even more. “After eight is fine for Housekeeping, but I’d prefer breakfast earlier.”

      “Is the seven to eight time slot all right?”

      “Yes.” Luke lifted his daughters out of the shuttle.

      “Would you like me to show you around the suite?” Christine asked.

      “Thanks, but we’ll be fine.”

      “I hope you enjoy your stay. Please let us know if there’s anything you need.” She drove away before he could get his wallet out for a tip.

      “Let’s go see our home for the next few weeks,” he said to Beth and Annie.

      They looked at him doubtfully. Perhaps he should have brought their nanny, but he’d agreed with Tilly that if the trip was going to do any good, a complete break was best. He just hadn’t expected Nicole to get sick and the tutor to drop out at the eleventh hour.

      He’d manage, though. His sister would be here in a few days, and however small the town of Glimmer Creek appeared to be, surely they had qualified tutors available.

      The garden around the John Muir Cottage was trimmed and mulched for winter, but it was still attractive. A covered porch overlooked the garden and rolling hills beyond, and it was furnished with white wicker outdoor furniture.

      The real disappointment started inside.

      While the rooms had a pleasant Victorian flavor, there were no Christmas decorations in sight. Granted, it was just the day after Thanksgiving, but he’d expected more. A thorough check of the premises also revealed there wasn’t a single piece of office equipment, though he could have sworn that Tilly had mentioned a full business center.

      Beth and Annie had slept on the plane, but they seemed half-asleep now—maybe the turkey lunch was making them groggy—so he hunted through the luggage for their favorite stuffed animals and they curled into bed for a nap. Down in the kitchen, he dialed Tilly’s cell number. A chirpy voice-mail recording greeted him. Knowing Tilly Robinson and her determined attempts to manage his life, she probably planned to duck his calls for a few days until he cooled down.

      “Tilly, it’s me,” he said after the beep. “I refuse to believe you didn’t know this is a suite, not the whole house, or that there’s no personal staff. Right now, it’s just me and the girls. The tutor didn’t come and Nicole couldn’t fly with us because she has an ear infection. She won’t be here for another few days. Get back to me.”

      Muttering beneath his breath, he called the front desk.

      “Yes, Mr. Forrester?” Based on the British accent, it was most likely the employee who’d first greeted them.

      “I’d like to speak with Carlie Benton.”

      “Certainly, but is there anything I can do?”

      “I prefer dealing with Ms. Benton.” Luke wasn’t certain why except that she appeared to be the kind of person who could get things done. Besides, Beth and Annie had responded to her...a lot more than they’d responded to him the past year.

      “Yes, sir.” A moment later, the same voice came back on the line. “I’m sorry—Carlie is away from her desk. But I’ve called her mobile and she’ll stop at your suite in a few minutes.”

      Luke had frowned the moment he heard “away from her desk,” only to realize that a face-to-face discussion would be best.

      * * *

      CARLIE COULDN’T BELIEVE she already needed to deal with Luke Forrester again.

      Though she was the Poppy Gold activities director, her responsibilities included public relations. The job had its challenging moments, but it was a big improvement over doing PR for a company with frequent product safety recalls. It was one of the reasons she’d resigned...along with not wanting to see her ex-fiancé every day. Especially after he’d gotten engaged to the owner’s daughter.

      July the previous year had not been a good month. First her wedding had been canceled at the last minute in the most embarrassing way, and ten days later her father was critically injured.

      A friendly voice hailed her as she approached the John Muir Cottage. “Hi, Carlie.”

      It was Esther Perkins, one of their repeat guests. Esther lived in San Jose and stayed at Poppy Gold several times a year, but Christmas kickoff day seemed to be her favorite.

      “What’s up, Esther?”

      “I just want to be sure that I can decorate at the Victorian Cat tomorrow. I like it best.”

      “Of course you can.” Guests weren’t employees; they could volunteer for anything they wanted to do.

      “Do you think Moby Dick will let me put a red bow around his neck?” Esther asked. “It would look darling against his fur.”

      Poppy Gold tried to make something unique about each of the houses, and at the Victorian Cat mansion, each room was populated by an amiable feline. Moby Dick was a fluffy white cat with a talent for manipulating guests into giving him extra treats.

      Carlie chuckled. “Moby is easygoing, but I wouldn’t try making him wear a bow. Not to worry, though—Tessa found red and green cat collars from a specialty store and they’ll be put on the VC cats tomorrow.”

      “That’s wonderful.”

      With a wave, Esther hurried away and Carlie continued toward the John Muir Cottage, wishing all their guests were like Esther Perkins.

      Bill had offered to give Luke Forrester her cell number to save her a trip, but Luke was the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to phone at 2:00 a.m. to demand a cup of tea. The twenty-four-hour staff in Guest Reception could handle those kinds of calls and decide whom to contact in case of something more serious. She might do public relations work in addition to being the activities director, but she wasn’t a frontline manager, thank goodness.

      Trying to appear friendly rather than frustrated, Carlie knocked at the Yosemite suite.

      The door opened almost immediately.

      “Hello, Mr. Forrester. I understand you asked for me.”

      He cocked his head as if listening for something and then stepped onto the porch. “Yes, I have several concerns. For one, where are the decorations? I promised my daughters this would be a holiday extravaganza. Even though this is just the day after Thanksgiving, I expected to see a few signs of Christmas.”

      Carlie