idea. He was happy to hear that her daughter had other plans.
Not that he was happy Caroline was dead. Of course not. He wasn’t made of stone. And she was actually a nice woman. Tough. He liked that about her. When her parents had passed, they left some debt, which came as a surprise to Mrs. Rosberg. She didn’t want to sell the inn, but the debt was too much for her to handle, and he’d given her a very fair offer. To his surprise, she’d counter-offered, agreeing to split the inn into two parts: waterfront and water view. Cross wanted it all, but he decided to take what he could, and so bought the water view property. Over the years, he’d given her several offers for the waterfront piece, but the response had always been a resounding “no.” He kept trying. She kept saying no. And much as she drove him crazy by steadfastly refusing any offer he might put forth, he had to admire her moxie. Not many people refused Arnold Cross. No. Scratch that. Not many people refused Arnold Cross’s money . That was a more accurate statement. Those who said money couldn’t buy happiness obviously never had any.
Cross scrolled back into his memory banks to come up with what he knew about Emerson Rosberg. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He had never lived in Lake Henry, so he wasn’t around during her heyday, but there had been enough stories for him to get the gist. The daughter of prominent international downhill Swedish ski champion Fredrik Rosberg, Emerson was being groomed to follow in daddy’s footsteps. And she was good. She had the makings to go all the way to the Olympics and more. She was a natural. And her good looks didn’t hurt. Once she was too old to ski competitively, a career in sports casting would have been easy. She was tall, blonde, stunning; she’d have been a lock. Once upon a time, Emerson Rosberg was the poster child for downhill skiing…this would have been what? Ten, twelve years ago? Lake Henry was the perfect place for somebody like her to grow up. With its variety of ski slopes and home to dozens of important races—plus its never-ending bid to host a winter Olympics—she got the best training, had the best places to practice her craft right in her own back yard.
Cross didn’t know much about what happened. All he had were the stories people had told him and articles he’d read. Apparently, Emerson had taken a final run down a slope in terrible weather conditions. There was no race, no crowd, no coaches. She was on her own, had been practicing, took a run, and wiped out. Badly. Shredded the insides of her knee so severely that after several surgeries to repair it, it had to be completely replaced. That was it. That’s all it took. One poor judgment call. Career over at barely nineteen years old.
She left town after that. Cross heard Los Angeles. Clear across the country to a city that never gets snow. Emerson Rosberg obviously wanted to get as far away from Lake Henry and downhill skiing as possible. She was back now, but Cross would lay odds that she didn’t want to stay long, and that she was itching to get back to the city where everybody was beautiful and nobody was real.
A grin spread across his face as he took a bottled water from the mini fridge and cracked the cap open with a twist. If he was right about Ms. Rosberg, and she wanted to get the hell out of Lake Henry as soon as possible, negotiations should be a piece of cake. He’d call her lawyer first thing Monday morning and set up a meeting.
Never a man to sit idly by and do nothing (that wasn’t how you made money), he popped open his laptop and began crunching numbers. With property values still rebounding and the work that would need to be done on both the inn as well as the rental, he would be in darn good shape to make a nice, tidy profit on this deal.
He couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
CHAPTER TEN
“ That was easy,” Cassie commented as Emerson plopped into the passenger’s seat. Carrie Underwood
Not that he was happy Caroline was dead. Of course not. He wasn’t made of stone. And she was actually a nice woman. Tough. He liked that about her. When her parents had passed, they left some debt, which came as a surprise to Mrs. Rosberg. She didn’t want to sell the inn, but the debt was too much for her to handle, and he’d given her a very fair offer. To his surprise, she’d counter-offered, agreeing to split the inn into two parts: waterfront and water view. Cross wanted it all, but he decided to take what he could, and so bought the water view property. Over the years, he’d given her several offers for the waterfront piece, but the response had always been a resounding “no.” He kept trying. She kept saying no. And much as she drove him crazy by steadfastly refusing any offer he might put forth, he had to admire her moxie. Not many people refused Arnold Cross. No. Scratch that. Not many people refused Arnold Cross’s money . That was a more accurate statement. Those who said money couldn’t buy happiness obviously never had any.
Cross scrolled back into his memory banks to come up with what he knew about Emerson Rosberg. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He had never lived in Lake Henry, so he wasn’t around during her heyday, but there had been enough stories for him to get the gist. The daughter of prominent international downhill Swedish ski champion Fredrik Rosberg, Emerson was being groomed to follow in daddy’s footsteps. And she was good. She had the makings to go all the way to the Olympics and more. She was a natural. And her good looks didn’t hurt. Once she was too old to ski competitively, a career in sports casting would have been easy. She was tall, blonde, stunning; she’d have been a lock. Once upon a time, Emerson Rosberg was the poster child for downhill skiing…this would have been what? Ten, twelve years ago? Lake Henry was the perfect place for somebody like her to grow up. With its variety of ski slopes and home to dozens of important races—plus its never-ending bid to host a winter Olympics—she got the best training, had the best places to practice her craft right in her own back yard.
Cross didn’t know much about what happened. All he had were the stories people had told him and articles he’d read. Apparently, Emerson had taken a final run down a slope in terrible weather conditions. There was no race, no crowd, no coaches. She was on her own, had been practicing, took a run, and wiped out. Badly. Shredded the insides of her knee so severely that after several surgeries to repair it, it had to be completely replaced. That was it. That’s all it took. One poor judgment call. Career over at barely nineteen years old.
She left town after that. Cross heard Los Angeles. Clear across the country to a city that never gets snow. Emerson Rosberg obviously wanted to get as far away from Lake Henry and downhill skiing as possible. She was back now, but Cross would lay odds that she didn’t want to stay long, and that she was itching to get back to the city where everybody was beautiful and nobody was real.
A grin spread across his face as he took a bottled water from the mini fridge and cracked the cap open with a twist. If he was right about Ms. Rosberg, and she wanted to get the hell out of Lake Henry as soon as possible, negotiations should be a piece of cake. He’d call her lawyer first thing Monday morning and set up a meeting.
Never a man to sit idly by and do nothing (that wasn’t how you made money), he popped open his laptop and began crunching numbers. With property values still rebounding and the work that would need to be done on both the inn as well as the rental, he would be in darn good shape to make a nice, tidy profit on this deal.
He couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
CHAPTER TEN
“ That was easy,” Cassie commented as Emerson plopped into the passenger’s seat. Carrie Underwood
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