Besides, she didn’t need to look at the books to know how broke she was. And even after spending close to a year renovating the three-story, gingerbread-laced, lone house up on the hill, there was still a long list of things she needed to do. Those were slated for the off season, later this spring and summer, bankrolled by the profits made from her first successful ski season as an independent innkeeper.

Mm-hmm.

Now her main objective was to keep the bank from rolling over on her business, which also happened to be the roof over her head. Either the snow had better start falling, or she’d better come up with another way to keep a full house and quick. She didn’t think she could handle having her dreams crushed twice.

Although, at least this time she’d see the end coming.

“Yeah,” she muttered, turning her back to the window. “Like train lights in a very short tunnel.”

She sat her half-empty mug down on the counter and walked into the front parlor where she’d been working on repairing a wedding ring quilt she’d found at a flea market the weekend before. It was going to make a gorgeous bedspread for the third-floor queen suite. But she wasn’t feeling up for the intricate needlework required. And quite frankly, sitting around indulging in another pity party for one was simply too pathetic, even for the mood she was in. Instead she grabbed a notepad and pen and went outside. Might as well utilize the sunny skies and bare ground to plot out the design for her spring flower and vegetable garden.

Take that, Mother Nature.

She was crouching in front of the weathered mulch at the base of a small willow, frowning at a tidy circle of crocuses that had the absolute nerve to even think about poking their little purple heads out of the dirt, when the loud, rumbling sound of a motorcycle vibrated through the warm, morning air.