Remember the Time

by Annette Reynolds

  “No! No, stop! Don’t push me!”

  Carol Lawson sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, her body wet with a cold sheen of sweat. She took a deep gulp of air and pressed her hand to her breasts, struggling to shake off the last strands of the dream that clung to her eerily. It had been so vivid, so real, so contradictory. She knew all too well that heartbreaking sense of loss, that grief she’d lived with so long. The pictures in the dream were terrifying: Herself lost and searching amidst places and things she’d never seen or even imagined before.

  She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin, a storm of emotions sweeping through her. Somehow the strange dream had opened a door to the old, terrible sadness, reminding her of a part of her life that she usually was able to keep deeply hidden, even from herself. But mixed with the fear and grief was an unexplainable excitement. There’d been magic in that dream, frightening her, but thrilling her too. How had her subconsious ever concocted such a wild and powerful vision? What did it mean?

  Hugging herself, Carol searched for a sensible answer and found it in the moving boxes and suitcases piled around her bedroom. Anyone would be upset the night before starting a new job, a new life. That’s all it was; that’s all it meant. But even as she closed her eyes, her thoughts leapt ahead to the desert Southwest and what might be waiting there.

  ONE

  “Don’t touch that! Don’t touch a damn thing,” growled a deep voice from the dark corner of the lobby.

  Carol stepped back quickly from the display of Indian artifacts she’d paused to admire.

  The hotel lobby of the Ocotillo was almost empty at midnight, with the exception of the night clerk doing paperwork behind the front desk. The faint sound of a native flute came from the same shadowy corner as the voice, music so lyrical and mystical, it seemed to transform the quiet lobby into the far reaches of the desert itself.

  Carol waited expectantly, peering past the glass cases into the darkness. Finally she shrugged. “Hello? I’m sorry. I was just trying to get a closer look.”

  “Don’t. It’s closer looks and careless hands that destroy these ancient things.” As he spoke, a man emerged from the shadows, parting the darkness that surrounded him. He was tall, lean, and ruggedly handsome in worn jeans and cowboy boots, the kind of man you had to look at twice. Riveting. Perhaps a bit dangerous. His eyes were masked by the darkness of the room, but Carol could feel him looking at her; she felt his gaze slide over her and linger like a touch.

  Her whole body tightened, and for a second she felt something mysterious take hold of her—a jolt of emotion. But was it excitement, fear, or … recognition? She actually took a half step forward, her heart fluttering, before she caught herself and stopped, confused by her response to this absolute stranger.

  He frowned, and narrowed his eyes warily as he looked into the blue depths of her eyes and saw his own pain and hunger mirrored there. His heart clenched in his chest. What had he seen? Who was this woman? But in an instant he became stone again, cold and distant. “I’ll be done in an hour. Come back then.”

  Lifting her chin, she said, “I may if I have time. I’m the new assistant manager. I came in to do a little paperwork. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “Good.”

  She frowned. “Do you work for the hotel?”

  “Occasionally.” Coldly he turned his back and placed a long hunting bow on the shelf next to a quiver of arrows.

  “That’s beautiful,” Carol said, giving it one more try. “The whole display looks fascinating. Is it owned by the hotel or on loan from—?”

  “There’ll be signs up in the morning. Right now I’ve got work to do.” And with one last piercing look at her, he turned and disappeared back into the darkness.

  Carol stared after him. If she had known how to use the bow and arrow, she might have. She wasn’t used to such rudeness … but neither was she used to being looked at in quite that way. Her skin actually tingled.

  Jet lag, she thought, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. It was a long flight in from Atlanta, and now she had work to do too. With a shake of her head she went off to find her new office.

  At dawn the next morning Carol was back in the lobby of the Ocotillo. In daylight, it had lost its strangeness; the arrogant mystery man was gone, and the art display was nothing more than a collection of old things sitting on shelves. She barely gave it a glance. What she noticed was the comforting similarity between this and the lobby of the towering Atlanta property she’d just left. There was the familiar Palm-Resort ambience of a four-star, world-class hotel: The pleasing sound of water tumbling over an indoor fountain; the well-modulated tones of the front desk staff; the soft talk and laughter of guests strolling toward the dining room.

  Outside, of course, there was a world of difference. Gone were the city streets, the traffic, the crush of people, and the noise. Guests arriving at the Ocotillo thought they’d traveled to the edge of the world. And in a way they were right. It was the edge of the ordinary world, the gateway to the strange and beautiful desert world of the Southwest.

  The hotel sprawled across the valley floor, the main lodge surrounded by luxurious one- and two-story adobe casitas, elegant suites with bedrooms, Jacuzzis, beehive fireplaces in the living rooms, and private patios. Encircling it all were the red cliffs and sandstone mesas that made Arizona famous. It was a spectacular landscape etched against a vivid, sundrenched indigo sky.

  But Carol was glad to deal with only the familiar and expected on this bright October morning. She was having trouble getting past her nervousness, a growing sense of unease that had haunted her since the night that eerie dream became yet another reason for sleeplessness. This is just new-job jitters, she assured herself. It’s only the move and all. Calm down, Lawson.

  What saved her was knowing that on the outside, at least, she looked perfectly calm. In a slim silk suit and a tailored blouse, her pale blond hair falling in an elegant sweep against her cheeks, she looked like the new assistant manager in charge of guest relations. She had worked long and hard for the promotion to that title, and she intended to use it to her best advantage. That was what life was all about, wasn’t it? Careful planning that got you what you wanted … what you had to have. This time she would do it right. Never again would she be forced to make the kind of decision she’d made nine years earlier. She shivered. It would be nine years on October twenty-fifth. The date was seared into her heart, a scar that wouldn’t heal.

  Quickly she pushed her private thoughts aside and readied a smile for the general manager’s approach. “Good morning, Mr. LeGrand.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Lawson. I wanted to welcome you again and make certain everything is satisfactory in your department. I’m impressed that you came in last night, a commendable idea. And I also like your plan to staff the concierge desk yourself while Louise is on vacation. I think you’ll find our guests are quite discriminating and can be … let us say, quite demanding.”

  “That is exactly why I enjoy working for PalmResorts. And this will give me the chance to familiarize myself with procedures and determine what changes I might like to make.”

  “Good. Please feel free to call me if you should run into any problems—”

  “Thank you, but I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”

  And then he left her alone.

  “All right. Here I go,” she whispered, lifting the blond, silken shock of hair off of her neck to let the air-conditioning cool her flushed skin. She slid into the chair behind the huge mahogany concierge desk. It faced the entrance to the lobby where wide glass doors framed a vista of cacti and mesas. To her right was the reception area, behind her the glass display cases. Her eyes were drawn that way, to where the shadows had hidden the dark-eyed stranger, and again she felt that unexpected tingle of excitement play across her skin. She pushed it away and got to work.

  By the time the phone rang for the first time, she was ready for anything.

  “Good morning. Conci
erge desk, may I help you? Yes, Mrs. Kern, the Jeep tours will be ready to go at nine. Your driver will meet you here at my desk.…

  “Good morning.” Another bright smile. “Yes, all the arrangements are made for your trail rides. The wrangler will pick you up out front. Look for a red van.…

  “Good morning! Yes, I arranged for an afternoon tour of Sedona.…

  “Good morning, Mrs. Watson. Yes, I have a driver coming to get you at exactly one-fifteen, and I reconfirmed your husband’s one o’clock tee-off time. And then I have you both scheduled for the five o’clock sunset Jeep tour.… Yes, that can include a bottle of champagne if you would like. No problem at all. You’re very welcome.”

  She was just catching her breath, and catching up on the paperwork and billing, when the phone rang again at ten. Dr. Marcus in suite 22 wanted a Jeep tour at eleven.

  “We keep missing the morning tours at nine,” he apologized. “Just can’t seem to roll out of bed that early on vacation. See what you can do and get back to me, okay?”

  But checking and rechecking all the company brochures didn’t do a bit of good. Reluctantly she dialed suite 22. “Dr. Marcus, I’m afraid there are no tours scheduled at that time. There is an afternoon trip, with space available, at one-thirty. Can I book you and your wife on that tour?”

  “That’s not going to work for us. We have a three o’clock tee-off time. Can you work something out, maybe a private tour? My wife’s really counting on this. Why don’t you check on it and call me back, okay?”

  “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

  After ten minutes of pleading with four different companies, she was steeling herself for Dr. Marcus’s displeasure. There was only one possibility left. She dialed, and this time she got lucky.

  “Great!” She smiled, straightening the pile of paper on her desk, running a polished pink nail along the edges as she talked. “Oh, I don’t care if he’s a regular driver or not, as long as he’s good and available. Have him here by eleven. Tell him to ask for Lawson. Thanks.”

  She called the doctor with her good news, then settled back to work. She had almost cleared off her desk when a dark shadow fell across the smooth mahogany top. Before she could look up, she sensed his presence, and then there was this voice, low and husky, lifting goose bumps along her arms.

  “Lonesome?”

  Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his dark, piercing gaze. He startled her, and stole her breath away. “Pardon me?” she whispered.

  “I was told to ask for Lonesome. I guess that’s you. I didn’t think we’d be meeting again so soon.”

  It took Carol less than a heartbeat to realize that this tall, gorgeous man with the brash grin was the one she’d met at midnight.

  He stood there, watching her in return, waiting for an answer … or was it a reaction? His own face, half-hidden by the brim of his Stetson, didn’t give away a thing.

  Keeping her voice absolutely neutral, she masked her emotions and stood, offering her hand. “My name is Lawson. Carol Lawson. And you are?”

  “Cody Briggs,” he answered, taking her hand. “Mesa Tours sent me.”

  His tone was cool, but his touch sent an unexpected heat racing along her nerves.

  Carol drew her hand away but held her gaze steady. She’d have to watch herself with this man … which would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so damn good to look at. He was incredibly handsome in a hard, sexy, dangerous way. The danger was what she felt most, a quick tightening of her stomach, an urge to run. Even as the thought crossed her mind, his muscles seemed to tense.

  Carol’s eyes widened. He was reading her thoughts! She could see herself mirrored in the black depths of his eyes, and it was as if he were drawing her in, closer and closer, until that dark gaze could pierce her very soul.

  Carol sat back down behind the comforting wall of her desk. Picking up a pencil, she tapped it on the reservation book. “So, you’re here for my special tour. Give me a minute to finish up this reservation slip and I’ll fill you in on the details.”

  “Fill me in?” Cody laughed, annoyance roughing the sound. “Don’t bother. The only thing I need to know is their names. I make up the rest as I go.”

  Carol bristled. “Well, that’s fine as long as the guest gets what he wants—”

  “Satisfaction guaranteed.” Cody’s dark eyes were unreadable, but there was a hint of something there, flickering like a flame in the darkness.

  He hadn’t meant to be so brusk, hadn’t planned on it. But he hadn’t planned on her either. She’d lingered at the edge of his consciousness all night and all morning. Those eyes, that face … he saw them in his sleep. But there was something else, something more. When their eyes met, he felt naked, raw. His body grew hard and hot. All because of one glance from a woman who was trying to tell him how to do his job.

  The way he was looking at her made Carol’s throat tighten in fear … or excitement. Neither was acceptable at the moment. Turning the pencil end over end, she surreptitiously slid her gaze up and down his tall, muscled frame. He was wearing an ankle-length canvas duster, cowboy boots, tight, worn jeans with a holster of some kind on his hip, and a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck. He looked a little too wild for the Ocotillo. And the way he stood there, thumbs hooked in his belt, arrogant, impatient—

  “Want me to turn around so you can get a better look?” Cody drawled.

  “Not at all.” She didn’t know if it was his cowboy good looks or his attitude that had her momentarily nonplussed, but neither was going to get the best of her. She could send him away. All she had to decide was whether she wanted to face a disappointed guest.

  Cody rocked back on his heels. “Well?” He nodded toward the phone. “The meter’s running.”

  With a chilly smile Carol folded her hands on her desk. “Your boss said you’re not the regular guide. Have you done this before?”

  Cody looked at her from under the brim of his hat as if he were actually deciding whether or not to answer. Then he shrugged; a whiplike flicker of a grin touched his lips and lit his eyes. “Yup.”

  Carol waited for more of an explanation, but none was forthcoming. Now, however, she was on her own turf. Crossing her long legs, she asked calmly, “Is there a route y’all follow, some normal tour with specified stops and things? I was looking at the brochures and noticed that they all go to Horseshoe Canyon, and Lost Gulch—”

  Cody held out the keys. “You want to drive? No? Fine, then stop worrying. I’ll give them a tour they won’t forget, I promise. Just send them outside; I’ll be waiting in the Jeep. And, Lonesome, anytime you want to check up on me, just book a tour.”

  Without another word he turned and strode out the door, duster billowing and spurs jangling. Carol stared after him for a long moment, then pushed her hair back from her face. Her nerves jumped. He might be gorgeous, but he was one arrogant son-of-a-gun. Then why did his shadow still linger on her like a touch? Why did it beckon her to follow?

  Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Carol pulled herself together. Smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt and the tremor out of her voice, she called Dr. Marcus and went on with her work.

  At two forty-five the doctor tore through the front door and headed straight for Carol’s desk.

  Carol braced herself. All through lunch she’d regretted her decision to let Cody Briggs take her guests out. She had sensed danger; she should have taken a firmer stand. Now she was going to get chewed out for that man’s incompetence—

  “Ms. Lawson,” the doctor said, slapping a hand onto her desk. “That was incredible. I cannot thank you enough. I mean, that was more than a tour, it was an amazing … no, an enlightening experience. Thank you for finding us such a fascinating guide.”

  Carol sat openmouthed for a second when he was gone, then looked across the lobby. Cody Briggs was leaning casually against the glass wall near the front entrance, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled over tanned forearms, his bandanna rolled and tied around his forehead
as if he were some Indian warrior. He’d been waiting for her to look up. Now he stared back at her, one dark brow climbing slightly, an I-told-you-so grin on his face. When he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat in mock salute, Carol’s blood reached a boil.

  The pencil snapped in her fingers, the sound echoing like a gunshot around the quiet lobby. Heads turned. Mortified, Carol glanced down, then up again as if to place the blame squarely where it belonged, on Cody’s broad shoulders. But in that instant he’d left.