by Hope Ramsay
Pearl, the other principal cast member, made no snotty comments, although Danny was certain she resented being here as much as everyone else. Beneath that quiet, composed surface, Pearl harbored a cynical and dark view of the world and acted on those beliefs whenever it advanced her personal agenda.
Who could blame any of them? All three of the Vegas girls had come up the hard way. Daniel admired them for their tenacity, even as he wished that his daughter had not been born into their particular world.
“Okay, Daniel, you’re on. I think carrying Scarlett is the right approach.” Antonella stage directed everyone before Daniel finally got the go-ahead to ring the doorbell.
Daniel didn’t know what Antonella expected to happen, but he wasn’t at all surprised when Pam’s longtime housekeeper, Lydia, came to the door wearing her black uniform with a white apron—a uniform that definitely conveyed an old-fashioned picture of wealth and privilege. Lydia also had a working-class English accent that would have been right at home on the back stairs of Downton Abbey.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, her blue eyes lighting up. “Danny boy, is it you? Oh, and look, you’ve brought the baby.”
She flew through the door and cooed all over Scarlett as if she were his mother. It took a moment before she realized that a group of six people were standing behind him, several with video cameras bearing telescopic lenses.
“Oh. My.” She paused a moment, confusion on her face as the cameras zoomed in.
“I’m home to get married, Lydia,” he said. “Mia and I want to tie the knot at Charlotte’s Grove.”
“Oh. Dear. I should go get your mum. She and your dad and Mr. Kopp are here. We’ve been talking about Brandon’s wedding.”
And with that, she disappeared, leaving Daniel on the doorstep with his baby and his bride-to-be and a half dozen other hangers-on.
“Who’s Brandon?” Mia whispered. “I don’t want to compete with one of your cousins.”
“Brandon’s the son of August Kopp, the managing partner of Dad’s law firm. Dad, Uncle Mark, and August are fishing buddies and good friends. And I had no idea Brandon was getting married.”
An instant later, Mom came running through the formal parlor, dressed as always like a fashion plate from Town & Country. Dad followed in his gray worsted and red power tie. Behind them came Aunt Pam and Uncle Mark, followed by August Kopp and his two children, Brandon and Roxanne, flanked by a blond woman Daniel assumed must be Brandon’s fiancée.
He did a double take the moment Roxanne came into view. Wow, she’d grown up. As a kid, she’d been tall and awkward—all elbows and knees. But no longer. Take her out of the conservative black dress and put her in some spangles, and she’d give any one of the Vegas girls a run for the money.
“Danny. Oh my goodness. Danny,” Mom said, pulling his attention away from August Kopp’s daughter. Mom gave him a hug that took him back to his carefree childhood. A deep, hollow longing filled him.
He’d been away from home for too long. He couldn’t even remember what had made him so angry that night he’d stormed off and vowed never to come back. Where had that angry boy gone?
Mom pulled back, cocked her head, and melted with her first up-close look at her granddaughter. Scarlett slept on, oblivious to the noise and craziness going on around her. But then, the baby had had lots of practice, living in the middle of a three-ring circus.
“Oh, Danny, she’s the spitting image of you at that age.” Mom moved in, took the baby from his arms, and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve waited so long to do this,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Look, Charles.” She turned so Dad could see his granddaughter. “Isn’t she beautiful? Just like Danny at the same age.”
By the besotted look in Dad’s eyes, Daniel knew his father had lost his heart to the little girl. Scarlett could be charming even when she snoozed.
“Daniel, what’s all this?” Roxy asked. While everyone else had focused on Scarlett, Roxy had noticed the cameras, and a big frown now rumpled her forehead. She gave him that brown-eyed stare that he remembered from childhood.
Roxy had despised him once, and he hardly blamed her. He’d been a total jerk around her when they were kids. He’d pulled her pigtails, called her names, and even put a frog down her shirt one time. By the frown on her face, she hadn’t forgotten or forgiven.
Roxy poked Aunt Pam’s shoulder and nodded toward the cameras. Danny’s aunt followed Roxy’s gaze, and her posture visibly hardened.
“Danny, this is such a surprise,” Pam said in her unmistakable Voice of Disapproval.
And right then Danny felt the camera crew’s excitement. Up until this moment, his family ambush hadn’t produced any conflict, just joy, but a show like Vegas Girls needed conflict—any kind of conflict, even the manufactured kind—to make the show interesting. So Pam’s disapproval fed right into the story line.
It was time for Danny to provide the punch line.
“I know everyone is surprised,” he said, plastering a big, phony smile on his face. “But I have great news. Mia and I are here to get married at Charlotte’s Grove. We’re going to put the entire thing on television. Won’t that be fun?”
Chapter Five
Amy slept surprisingly well considering how badly the beast in the woods had scared her. It had to be exhaustion, because she drifted off to sleep before the wedding reception ended and didn’t wake up until nature called just as the sun peeped over the horizon. The Z4’s clock said she had three hours to kill before she needed to report in to Mr. McNeil.
She would have to come up with a good excuse that didn’t expose her as a wimp. But before that, she desperately needed a bathroom.
And a shower.
Good thing she’d already worked out a solution to both of those problems yesterday, while weeding the pool house flower bed. The pool house might be shut down for the season, but it wasn’t locked. She’d thoroughly investigated the building during one of her breaks and discovered its bathrooms and showers. Even better, they’d stored folded beach towels in some big plastic bags in the storage room.
Having a rock-solid plan that didn’t involve peeing in the woods emboldened her. She bundled up her Rag and Bone jeans and the tank top she’d put on two days ago and sneaked off to the pool house. Luckily, it was crazy early in the morning, so no one saw her as she slipped into the building.
After availing herself of the toilet and stealing a beach towel, she headed into the women’s shower, where, miracle of miracles, she found soap in the shower dispensers. She shucked out of her filthy clothes, hopped into the shower, and turned on the water.
What the hell?
She’d been prepared for a cold shower, but what she got was no water at all. Damn. The water had probably been turned off for the winter, which explained why the toilet hadn’t flushed properly.
At home, the shutoff valve for the pool was located in the utility room along with the pumps and filters and other stuff that kept the pool clean. There had to be a utility room for the inn’s pool too.
She wrapped a towel around herself and went exploring, but she couldn’t find a door to any utility rooms. She ventured outside for a perimeter search, and out back she found a six-foot privacy fence with a gate secured with a gigantic padlock.
She peered through the fence’s latticework and spied a door on the other side labeled “utilities.” She’d have to decide—either climb the fence or live without a shower. It didn’t take long to make up her mind. She tucked the end of the towel more firmly around her chest and started to climb.
It wasn’t easy. The holes in the trellis provided small, sharp toe holds, and her towel kept slipping down. She tried to squeeze her arms tight to her body to keep the towel in place, but that made climbing almost impossible.
The worst happened when she reached for a handhold near the top of the fence. The towel fell off, fluttering to the ground like a wounded butterfly. Another life choice presented itself: Go back for the towel or keep climbing. Ano
ther no-brainer. She forged on and discovered that climbing was easier unencumbered by terry cloth.
She topped the fence and slipped down the other side, then streaked to the door, where God must have been on her side because, unlike the gate, the utility room door was unlocked. She quickly found the well-labeled water shutoff valve right beside a tankless water heater. This was her lucky day. She might get a hot shower after all.
She headed outside, feeling accomplished, and scampered up the fence. She had just thrown her leg over the top when a deep, masculine voice said, “Have you ever considered gymnastics? You’ve got a real talent there.”
Dusty McNeil leaned against the fence, his baby blues doing a slow, thorough circuit of her body. The smirk on his lips torched a fire in Amy’s belly. He had bedroom eyes—the kind that reeked of hot, sweaty sex. And she was already naked.
No, squash that thought. Mr. McNeil was her boss. Embarrassment swept the momentary lust away, sending a full-body flush right through her that had nothing to do with hot, sweaty sex.
Mr. McNeil’s smile deepened to reveal rugged laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Did you lose this?”
* * *
Dusty tried not to grin like a fool, but little ol’ Amy Lyndon had a nice body on her. So he looked while he wondered why she’d been climbing the fence to the pool utility room at seven in the morning. Her nudity was almost a minor detail. A pretty nice detail, but secondary, all things considered.
She blushed cute though. From the tip of her toes to the tip of her breasts. Yes, sir, that color is what people called rosy.
He reluctantly handed her the towel, and she wrapped it twice around her slender body. He could see how climbing a fence wearing a towel that big could prove challenging.
“I guess you want an explanation, huh?” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Yup.”
She turned her back, and he amused himself by watching the rise and fall of her delicate shoulders. The sunlight glistened on her skin, giving it the luster of alabaster. He caught his breath. She was beautiful.
She finally turned to face him. “Look, I’ll tell you the truth, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, especially not Willow or David. And not my aunt Pam either.”
“I’m not exactly on speaking terms with your aunt.”
“Good. This wouldn’t be a time to develop a bosom friendship, okay?”
He nodded.
“It’s like this. My father threw me out of the house yesterday. He changed the locks, took all the money out of my checking account, canceled my credit cards, and then told me I had to marry someone I don’t want to marry.”
Dusty blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. He thinks we’re living in the Middle Ages.”
Dusty said nothing in response. What could he say? He had never understood the lifestyle of the Lyndon family. Except for David, whom he understood completely because David was a simple guy who loved his daughter and his wife and fishing in that order of priority. The rest of them weren’t like David at all.
“So you see,” Amy said, “I didn’t have a place to take a shower. And I only have, like, fifty cents in cash. And about my work clothes…they were the best I could find at the Haggle Shop.”
“And the fence?” he asked, glancing at the fence and then back at Amy.
“I had to break into the pool utility room to turn on the water.”
Impressive. Never in a million years would he have guessed that little ol’ Amy Lyndon would have a clue about water shutoff valves.
“And about the snipe,” she continued, her voice wavering.
“Oh, well, I’m—”
“I couldn’t catch it. It was way too big for the bag you gave me. And to be honest, I ate most of the peanut butter, and the snipe decided it wanted to eat me and I got scared and ran all the way back to my car, which is parked in the lot. I slept there last night.”
A tear escaped one of her big, chocolate-drop eyes, and guilt assailed Dusty. What an idiot he’d been for sending her off into the woods. It had never occurred to him that she might meet up with a critter. A raccoon could be downright terrifying to the uninitiated. And pranking someone who didn’t get the prank wasn’t any fun at all.
“I guess I don’t get my overtime pay, huh?”
“At least you tried. How many hours were you out there snipe hunting?” His lips definitely twitched when he said this. Good thing she was looking down at her cute little naked feet.
“I’m not sure. A couple of hours, I guess,” she said without making eye contact.
Shoot. He needed to do something about this situation, especially since he might have put her in danger. If anyone in her family ever found out about this, they would make his life a living hell. He didn’t need any more trouble with those people. He’d have to pay her off or something.
“Why don’t you go take a shower and meet me up at the barn in about half an hour? I’ll pay you for your work last night.”
Her head came up, her face a study in gumption. “I’ll go out snipe hunting tonight if you want. I’m sure I can catch it for you, now that I’m fully prepared. The truth is, I could use the money.”
Damn. What now? “Uh, no, I don’t think so. The animal you just described sounds more like a galawackus. They are known to hunt snipe.”
“They must like peanut butter too.”
“Yep. They’re what you call omnivores. Like bears. It wasn’t a bear you saw, was it?” He would be roasted alive if anyone discovered he’d sent her out into the woods only to meet up with a bear. Black bear sightings weren’t all that uncommon in these parts.
“I don’t think so. I thought it might be a wolf or a coyote.”
Wow. It might well have been a coyote for all he knew. The coyote population had been exploding in the mid-Atlantic for some time. He didn’t want to alarm her, although he mentally kicked himself for all kinds of stupid for sending her out into the woods alone. His joke had backfired.
“It was probably a galawackus,” he said in a light tone. “They usually move on once they get their snipe.”
Despite the serious nature of the situation, a laugh wanted to bubble up out of him the minute Amy nodded her head like the most gullible of rubes. He forced the laugh back down since this had ceased to be a laughing matter.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t catch it,” Amy said.
Why the hell was she sorry? Her words were a big red flag. It struck him right then that he’d never heard a Lyndon apologize for anything. And in this case, Amy had nothing to apologize for. Even her boneheaded move with the daffodils had turned up roses, so to speak. Last night’s bride had gushed over the centerpieces.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just remember to ask questions if you don’t understand something I’ve asked you to do. Okay? There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” Or a galawackus. Or a snipe, for that matter.
She nodded and then turned and scampered away toward the pool house entrance like a tiny pixie or wood nymph, all slender and pale, with hair the color of sweet birch bark in winter.
* * *
Amy’s humiliation was complete. Mr. McNeil had seen her naked. Even worse, he now understood her desperation.
So, naturally, she wanted to slink away and hide, but she needed the money if she intended to continue to defy her father. That made her both desperate and determined, so after her shower she pulled her wet hair back into a ponytail, put on her boyfriend jeans, less-than-clean tank top, and oversized camo jacket, and headed up to the barn to endure a face-to-face meeting with Mr. McNeil she would rather have avoided.
A fresh morning breeze chilled her wet head, but the sunlight cresting the mountains promised a beautiful day ahead. Birdsong trilled on the air, which carried a scent of something Amy had always associated with the turning of the seasons from the frozen cold of winter to the early days of spring. This morning, as she walked up to the barn, she had a name for that smell—dirt.
Who knew that the gro
und smelled like anything? And yet knowing this, having learned it yesterday weeding the bed by the pool house and breaking every one of her fingernails in the process, seemed like a victory over Mister McNeil and his sultry and judgmental stares.
She found Dusty in his office, wearing a beige fishing shirt and looking like a model for the L. L. Bean catalog. He hunched over a fly-tying vise with a pair of thick magnifying glasses perched on his nose.
She’d watched her father tie flies for years but had never paid much attention to it. Now suddenly her attention was riveted to Dusty’s broad, long-fingered hands as he delicately wrapped a thread around a tiny fishing fly. His hands were competent, skillful, and even elegant. She stood silent for a long time, oddly drawn to the deep quiet that emanated from him.
The moment lasted until Dusty looked up, giving her a googly-eyed stare from behind his magnifying glasses. Amy giggled, and some of the tension eased from her neck.
He snatched the magnifying glasses from his face and assumed his Mister McNeil expression, all frowny and stiff-jawed and judgmental.
Here it came—a lecture on her failure as a snipe hunter. How she didn’t deserve to have this job. How she had failed at everything he’d asked her to do. And all of that was made even worse by the fact that he’d seen her naked and knew exactly how desperate she’d become. She braced herself.
“Hungry?” he asked, surprising the crap out of her. “How ’bout breakfast at Gracie’s? I’ve got time before David gets back from church. He and I are going fishing on the lower Shenandoah this afternoon.”
Wait, what? Why was he asking her to breakfast? Because he’d seen her nude or what? She didn’t want to have breakfast with him at Gracie’s. She wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and not come out until Daddy changed his mind and let her come home without any strings attached.
