Inn for a Surprise (A Kissing Tree Novella)

Books by Karen Witemeyer

A Tailor-Made Bride

Head in the Clouds

To Win Her Heart

Short-Straw Bride

Stealing the Preacher

Full Steam Ahead

A Worthy Pursuit

No Other Will Do

Heart on the Line

More Than Meets the Eye

More Than Words Can Say

HANGER’S HORSEMEN

At Love’s Command

The Heart’s Charge

NOVELLAS

A Cowboy Unmatched from A Match Made in Texas: A Novella Collection

Love on the Mend: A Full Steam Ahead Novella from With All My Heart Romance Collection

The Husband Maneuver: A Worthy Pursuit Novella from With This Ring? A Novella Collection of Proposals Gone Awry

Worth the Wait: A LADIES OF HARPER’S STATION Novella

The Love Knot: A LADIES OF HARPER’S STATION Novella from Hearts Entwined: A Historical Romance Novella Collection

Gift of the Heart from Christmas Heirloom Novella Collection

More Than a Pretty Face from Serving Up Love: A Four-in-One Harvey House Brides Collection

Inn for a Surprise from The Kissing Tree: Four Novellas Rooted in Timeless Love

© 2020 by Karen Witemeyer

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-4934-2496-2

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jennifer Parker

The author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.

To my editors, Dave Long and Jessica Barnes.

Your counsel is always worth hearkening unto. Thank you for fine-­tuning my romantic whimsy with your practical insight. My inner Phoebe is always better once your constructive Barnabas guidance comes alongside.

Thank you for sharing my vision, believing in my abilities, and encouraging me every step of the way. You are a blessing!

Contents

Cover

Books by Karen Witemeyer

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigraph

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Epilogue

Sneak Peek of The Heart’s Charge

About the Author

Back Ads

The way of a fool is right in his own eyes:

but he that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise.

Proverbs 12:15

one

1891

HUNTSVILLE, TEXAS

Illogical business proposals made Barnabas Ackerly’s skin itch, but this one irritated like a hundred mosquito bites treated with a poison ivy poultice.

Barnabas eyed his employer warily. He’d been with Hollis Woodward for over five years, long enough to have earned his mentor’s respect and trust. Yet as brilliant as Mr. Woodward was when it came to land development, he had a blind spot the size of a house when it came to his daughter.

Tread carefully. Mr. Woodward, perhaps this isn’t the best—

Don’t give me that you-­think-­I’ve-­got-­a-­screw-­loose look, Ackerly. Hollis Woodward shoved up from the chair behind his imposing mahogany desk and braced his fingertips against the well-­polished surface with enough force to turn his knuckles white. I assure you, all of my mental hardware is fully fastened and functioning. He chuckled good-­naturedly, but Barnabas wasn’t fooled. The steel in Hollis Woodward’s eyes wasn’t the type to bend.

Barnabas rose from his seat and set the papers he’d just examined atop the desk in front of him. I respect what you’re trying to do here, sir, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t point out the flaws in this proposal. It’s simply not a viable investment.

Bah. Hollis pushed away from the desk and waved a dismissive hand through the air as he advanced around the corner and invaded Barnabas’s territory. I know this project is a bit afield of the usual work I assign you.

A bit afield? Apparently the moon was a bit afield of the earth.

But you’re the magician, Ackerly. You’ll find a way to get the job done. You always do.

Magic had nothing to do with it. Yes, Barnabas had carved himself a place in the Woodward Land Development Company by cultivating the ability to sell the unsellable, but that came from long hours and hard-­won experience. Not a wand covered in pixie dust or whatever concoction Hollis expected him to employ to transform this sow’s ear of an idea into a silk purse. Barnabas might specialize in repurposing unwanted vacant properties into desirable real estate, but Merlin himself couldn’t conjure a spell strong enough to turn this wisp of nonsensical whimsy into a profitable venture.

"Sir, I believe this endeavor is beyond my powers. A romantic rendezvous retreat? In Oak Springs? No offense, sir. I know it’s your hometown, but no one outside a fifty-­mile radius of the place is even aware it exists. And few, if any, within that radius would"—­waste their hard-­earned money on such impractical lodgings—be interested in paying for a night at your daughter’s inn when they could visit the, ah . . . what did she call it? He glanced down at the first page of the proposal, where the inanely sentimental name smiled up at him, completely unaware of its own imbecility. Ah, yes. The Kissing Tree. When they could simply visit the Kissing Tree of their own accord without staying at the inn.

Hollis crossed his arms. I suggested we fence in the tree when we bought the acreage for just that reason, but Phoebe wouldn’t hear of it. She said the tree belongs to everyone. The only reason she built the inn is to make it more accessible to outsiders.

Built? A boulder of dread sank in Barnabas’s gut. You’ve already built the inn?

Yep.

That didn’t bode well. If Hollis had already invested funds, there would be no going back. Their only hope was to throw the lever and switch tracks before the entire train derailed. But what lever could he pull?

Perhaps we can turn it into a . . . community center of sorts. Or a boardinghouse. Yes, a boardinghouse. Practical. Feasible. He’d just have to find a manager. A cook. Maybe a groundskeeper.

Ma Granger already runs a boardinghouse in Oak Springs, Hollis said with a shake of his head, and it’s only full up around harvest time. We don’t get many visitors.

Exactly my point! Could he not see the gaping holes in this plan?

Hollis unfolded his arms, pointed his right index finger, and deliberately prodded Barnabas in the hollow of his shoulder. That, my boy, is precisely why I’m bringing you on board. You’re a genius at finding ways to make the improbable possible. Besides, Phoebe will help. She has several ideas about how to bring in clientele.

Somehow Barnabas doubted a woman as out of touch with reality as Phoebe Woodward would be much help. Not that he would ever say so aloud. Hollis would sack anyone who disparaged his daughter. Besides, the young lady didn’t deserve his censure. She was kind-­natured and bookish, two qualities Barnabas generally admired. Not to mention that she possessed enough sense to avoid the grasping guests at her father’s quarterly dinners at their home in Huntsville. Men clamored to strengthen business ties with the most successful developer in a dozen counties, and women hunted the wealthy widower for a more intimate connection. Few attended out of true friendship. Barnabas had run across Miss Woodward more than a time or two hiding in her father’s study, a book in her lap. A definite mark in her favor. He’d passed many a pleasant hour reading in her company without the pretense of polite conversation while other guests entertained themselves with vapid parlor games.

Until today, he’d considered Miss Woodward a thoughtful, intelligent soul. Now he realized the truth. All that novel reading had rotted the poor lady’s brain.

Barnabas cleared his throat and carefully weighed each word before letting it out of his mouth. Even if she found a way to entice customers who possess the time, money, and inclination to travel to her inn, the logistics would create a barrier. The nearest rail stop is the Great Northern spur here in Huntsville. That would leave the clients twenty miles short of their final destination. I fear couples seeking a romantic getaway will be disillusioned by the realities of renting a buggy from the local livery and braving the unpredictable Texas weather for a four-­hour trip to Oak Springs.

Hollis’s expression hardened. I guess you’ll just have to find a way around that snag.

Sir, I simply can’t advise—

I’m not asking for your advice. Hollis’s unyielding tone cut Barnabas off like a hatchet severing a tree limb. I’m giving you an assignment.

Barnabas’s pulse kicked so hard, he swore he could feel the vein in his neck knocking against his chin-­high starched collar.

"You will find a way to make the Kissing Tree Inn work, Ackerly. I’ll accept no less." The man Barnabas had long considered a mentor and friend clasped his shoulder with a firmness that communicated confidence, yet at the same time inspired a terrifying level of dread.

Disappointing Hollis Woodward was not an option. Not if Barnabas wanted to keep his position in the company. Woodward was fair, but he was first and foremost a man of business. Any employee who turned a profit and satisfied the customer was rewarded with more responsibility and a more lucrative clientele. Mediocre performance earned a loss of trust and, therefore, a loss of clients. Outright failure? Well, that tended to leave a fellow searching for a new position.

Barnabas wanted to believe that his excellent performance over the last several years would prevent one failure from costing