by Cindy Gerard
“I prefer the Belinda, thanks just the same. And I don’t believe in ghosts, so it’s no sweat, all right?”
She studied him for a long moment, considering both his stubbornness and her reaction to him. While she’d finally come to terms with it, she still didn’t like that she was attracted to him.
It stirred up her irritation all over again. Not just with herself, but with him. Why did he have to come here and then manage to make her like him? And how, with one grand entrance into her private domain, had he stirred up physical wants and needs she’d packed away with her divorce decree and wedding pictures?
She couldn’t afford the complications this particular attraction could bring. She didn’t have the time or the energy, she told herself pragmatically. She had too much work to do on the hotel. Add the fight she planned on waging against Dreamscape Corporation’s plans to destroy virgin forest and interrupt the solitude with concrete-and-glass getaway condos by the falls, and she already had a full plate.
Frustration surfaced with a vengeance. Unfortunately for him, it looked like he was going to bear the brunt of it. She knew she shouldn’t leave him in Belinda’s room, but suddenly it seemed like a darn fine idea. Why not ruffle those pretty corporate feathers he wore with such confidence? Why not let him feel a little of the discomfort she was feeling? And after all, wouldn’t she actually be doing him a favor? If she left him with Belinda, it was a given that he wouldn’t be “bored.”
In the end she justified her decision by opting to employ the golden rule of business: give the customer what he wants.
“Fine,” she said with a shrug and a “Don’t say I didn’t warn you” look. “Whatever you want.”
“You can go to bed with a clear conscience tonight,” he assured her. “You did your best to dissuade me.”
“It’s not my conscience I’m worried about,” she lied, wondering, now that the die was cast, how long it would be before Belinda made her presence known. “It’s your peace of mind.” And her own.
“Dinner’s in five minutes,” she added, before she had second thoughts. When he just shook his head, obviously amused, he sealed his fate for good. No way was she moving him now. Whatever Belinda had in mind for him, he deserved it.
“Please make yourself at home in the dining room. Casey will take care of everything you need. And if you’d like, I’ll take you on a tour of the grounds and the hotel itself afterward. After all, you do have a vested interest in the property, whether you want to be involved or not.”
And she’d somehow take care of her sophomoric heart palpitations between now and then.
Needless to say, she would also take care of J. D. Hazzard for his part in saddling her with Colin Slater—if he ever had the guts to show his handsome, devious face at Crimson Falls again.
From a corner table Colin studied the dining room with a critical eye. He’d made his fortune in the renovation and restoration of buildings deemed unsalvageable by those with less vision and a more-limited knowledge of construction. He’d seen the effects of deep freezes on structures before, but never to the extent of the damage on this hotel. Had it been a prospective project, he’d have passed, marking it off as a poor investment. He was in the business of making money. There was no money to be made here. The renovation costs would far exceed the hotel’s worth, given its inaccessibility, which meant poor revenue-generating potential.
Sadly, it also meant the place would bleed Scarlett Morgan dry of any profit she thought she might eventually make. Not your problem, he reminded himself coldly, and watched the activity in the room.
Though it was summer now, and July was hot in Northern Minnesota, one hundred winters of subzero temperatures and deep, hard frosts had caused the ground beneath the hotel to heave, buckling the floor in several places. To wait on tables required great balance and even better footing in the sixty-by-forty-foot dining room, where the worn blue carpet looked like the waving surface of a wind-chopped lake.
He watched with admiration as Casey, with skill and agility, moved from table to table, filling water glasses, refilling bread baskets, busing tables. She knew the hills and valleys of the floor like a map maker knew the lay of the land. Scarlett was every bit as adroit at traversing the rough terrain.
He had given up trying to convince himself it was his appreciation for Scarlett’s surefootedness that kept his attention on her. The fact was, in spite of his resolve to distance himself, she continued to captivate him.
Skimming his thumb idly over his sweating water glass, he tried to pin down the reason. It wasn’t just that she was a beautiful woman. New York was full of beautiful women. Neither was it exclusively that she was either unaware of her appeal or she discounted it, even though her lack of self-absorption was something he found refreshing.
As he sat there, he finally decided it was the puzzle that fascinated him. Why was she up here by herself? Why wasn’t there a man in her life? What could possibly compel her to isolate herself in no-woman’s land, every day a struggle to keep this relic going? And what drove her to fight against the proposed condominiums that outside investors wanted to build near the hotel?
He’d quizzed J.D. in depth on that issue before he’d bought the raffle ticket. “You’re telling me there’s money behind a project to build condos to attract tourists and she’s against them coming in? Doesn’t she have any head for business? Condos bring people. People bring money. And exposure. It could only help improve her business.”
“She’s more interested in preserving the wilderness as it is,” J.D. had explained. “I’ve got to appreciate her motives. There’s not that much virgin timber or undisturbed forests left in the upper Midwest. This is the Rockies equivalent of the last frontier.”
“From a business point of view, she’s making a mistake,” Colin had contended, but he’d bought the tickets, anyway. If he could help save the whales he could help one woman try to save a little piece of history, no matter that, figuratively speaking, she was cutting her own throat when it came to her finances.
He had no intention of getting involved. As he watched her hustle around the room, though, he couldn’t stall a sharp tug of regret. Her motives might be strong, but her weapons weren’t. The money she’d made from the raffle was inadequate to save the hotel from financial disaster. And pitted against the unstoppable wheels of progress, this one small, but determined, woman did not possess near enough fire power to preserve the land and the traditions she treasured.
Not only that, she lacked the strength. It was apparent that she worked too hard, was more committed to taking care of her guests than herself. For some reason that conclusion nettled him. Someone ought to be seeing to her needs. He was certain she had them—and just looking at her jump-started a few needs of his own.
He shifted, placed one ankle over the other knee and thought about why. It wasn’t that he was gun-shy when it came to women. It wasn’t even that he was soured on monogamy or committed to diversity. He had many friends—J.D. included—who proved that marriage as an institution was alive and well. His parents, happily married forty years last month, cemented the concept. The honest truth was he’d just never met a woman who was as exciting or as compelling as his work. He doubted that he ever would.
Although Scarlett Morgan was a pleasant surprise and had him idly entertaining a close encounter of the passionate, but temporary, kind, he wouldn’t let it happen. Temporary was the pivotal word here and it wouldn’t be right. Not with her. The lady had home and harmony and forever after written all over her.
He leaned back in his chair, hooking an arm over its back, and mourned the demise of what could have been a pleasant interlude. Scarlett Morgan was as off limits as a nuclear silo. The fallout potential was in the critical range. She’d never understand that, with him, affairs of the heart had to be fleeting, because business came first, foremost and always.
Business. He looked around the dining room. Business is what had ultimately brought him here: his friends’ and family�
�s conception that he needed to get away from his; and Scarlett’s need to raffle off part of her business to keep it going.
He took a quick head count. There were all of fifteen people in a dining room that would easily hold sixty. No wonder she was in financial difficulty. It was the height of the tourist season, and less than half of the hotel’s guest rooms were occupied.
He made a slow scan of the room. A table of middle-aged fishermen dug into Scarlett’s simple but delicious meal, laughing and boasting to each other about their fishing experiences of the day. Another table was filled with six women—mid-forties, he’d guess. They were an unlikely group for this backwoods facility that catered to fishermen and family vacationers. But like the group of men, they laughed and chattered, totally absorbed in their meal and their private jokes.
A father and his three teenage sons occupied the final table. He unintentionally overheard scraps of their conversation and gathered they were going to portage over into Canadian waters tomorrow and canoe the wilderness area for a few days, so even they wouldn’t be staying at the hotel after tonight.
All in all it was a contented, if small, group. And it didn’t represent enough business to break even, let alone turn a profit.
He shifted his attention back to Scarlett. He was busy appreciating the slimness of her hips, packed into a pair of well-worn jeans, when a shadow fell over the table.
He looked up and into a black, toothless scowl, sunken in the pleated leather folds of a grizzled, ancient face.
“You’d be the money man.”
The old-timer’s voice was as rusted with age as his joints, which Colin could have sworn he heard creak when he slowly pulled out a chair and, inch by decrepit inch, sank down onto it.
“Colin Slater,” Colin said, cautiously offering his hand.
The old man considered, with a gummy compression of his mouth, before finally raising a gnarled paw in return. He met Colin’s grip with surprising strength.
“So,” he said, thumbing back a ragged cap with Crimson Falls written across the bill in faded red letters. He gave Colin a lengthy, disapproving appraisal, “what’s yer business here, boy?”
Three
“Geezer.” Scarlett appeared at the table before Colin could respond. She addressed the aged inquisitor with a warning tone. “Mind your manners. Don’t you be giving Mr. Slater the third degree.”
She turned to Colin. “If he hasn’t already introduced himself, this is Geezer Jennings.”
As in “old geezer,” Colin concluded, but didn’t say as much.
“Geezer’s my main man, right Geez?” she added affectionately. “Handyman, dock boy, bartender. You name it, he does it.”
Colin added self-appointed protector to the list as Geezer cast a proprietary eye his way. “We were just getting acquainted.”
“Good,” she said brightly, then to Geezer, added, “Be good, now.” She laid a hand on his shoulder to soften the admonishment before hurrying off to see to the needs of another table.
Geezer pursed his leathery lips and gave Colin the evil eye—something he wasn’t used to. Instead of finding it irritating, he got a kick out of it. It was rare to be the recipient of such candor, and he appreciated it for what it was. He’d learned early on that one of the hazards of success was that people told you what they thought you wanted to hear, not what they really felt.
He liked Geezer’s honesty, but he wasn’t going to let the old boy think he had him buffaloed.
“You heard the lady,” Colin warned, narrowing his eyes to stall a grin. “You’re supposed to be good.”
Geezer snorted. Colin got the distinct impression that if they hadn’t been in the middle of Scarlett’s dining room, he would have spit on the floor.
“What I’m supposed t’ be is careful a’ the likes of a slippery Joe like you waltzin’ in here and makin’ trouble for that nice little woman.”
“Then you can relax,” Colin assured him, man-to-man. “The last thing I want to cause Scarlett is trouble. I’m just here for a short vacation.”
Geezer appeared unconvinced. While Colin admired the old man’s tenacity and loyalty, he also had to wonder if Scarlett actually had him on the payroll. If so, with help like him, it was small wonder she looked so tired. She probably had to cover the old man’s duties, too. That aspect of her character didn’t surprise him. From the beginning she’d struck him as the kind of woman who would take in, and tend to, strays and outcasts.
Geezer’s scratchy voice broke into his speculation. “I’ll be watchin’ ya,” he assured Colin, tucking in his chin and glaring down the length of his narrow nose to emphasize the warning.
“I’m sure you will be,” Colin responded, giving the old man the respect his loyalty deserved.
When he rose to leave, Colin did the same. Geezer scowled, mumbled something under his breath about “oily city manners” and shuffled out of the room.
Colin was still watching him when Casey made a quick cut over to his table.
“He’s harmless,” she assured him. “Mom always says he’s like an old bear marking his territory whenever he wants someone to know he cares about us and the hotel. So whatever he said, don’t take it personally. He probably said worse to the IRS man when he came and did an audit last year. Besides, he’s just naturally suspicious of any man who doesn’t wear a baseball cap.”
Colin chuckled as Casey scooted away to bus a table. She was a cute kid. Her openness was a refreshing change of pace. All her chatter about a ghost, and her thinly veiled hope that she’d spooked him with her little tale, had been charming.
He glanced around the dining room again, his gaze landing momentarily on the table of women. They burst into a frenzy of giggles. When he heard a not-so-subtly concealed “hubba-hubba” followed by another round of laughter, he realized they’d been sizing him up. One of them—a blonde with a big smile and a bigger chest—gave him a shy, three-finger wave, which sent her cohorts into another chorus of squeals and giggles.
He offered a polite, if baffled, smile and averted his attention to his coffee.
“They think you’re a hunk.”
It was Scarlett who popped by his table this time, coffee carafe in hand.
“And I think they had a little too much wine with their dinner,” he said.
She grinned. “That, too. But I’ve got to tell you, they are impressed. I think you’ve made their vacation. Not to worry, though. Most of them are married, so you’re relatively safe. They’re just letting their hair down.”
“Quite an assortment of guests you’ve got here.”
“They’re nice people. All of them.”
“All fifteen of them,” he clarified, then wished he hadn’t.
The brightness in her eyes faded. “Yes. Well, I’m hoping to change that soon.”
He wanted to ask how and what she had in mind, but felt he didn’t dare. She might construe it as meddling. and he didn’t want to set her on edge again.
“I’m sure you will,” he said instead, and complimented her on the meal.
“It’s not the Rainbow Room,” she said with an undercurrent of pride he found admirable, “but it’ll fill an empty stomach and taste good going down.”
“Very good,” he assured her. “The cake tasted like one my brother makes.”
“Your brother? Ah. Now there’s a compliment a girl can take to heart.”
“Why, Ms. Morgan. Is that a gender-biased conclusion I see being drawn?”
Her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. “I stand corrected—and properly put in my place. I’m the last person in the world who should be making assumptions based on gender. My apologies to your brother. I’m sure he makes a delicious devil’s food cake.”
“Almost as good as yours, if that’s what it was.”
Her smile was soft and friendly. “I’ll be able to get away in about an hour. Would you like that tour then?”
“Sure. Why not.”
“Good. When you’re finished, you can
wait for me out on the verandah, if you’d like. It’ll be cooler out there, and you can take your coffee with you. Or if you’d rather, the bar is through that door and to your left. Geezer makes a mean Manhattan.”
He snorted. “I’m sure he does. At this point, however, I’m a little leery of just how mean it would be.”
They shared another one of those smiles that hinted at friendship. The implied intimacy had him clearing his throat.
“In any event, I’ll err on the side of caution and pass on the drink. Another cup of coffee sounds good, though.”
“That I can do.” She topped off his cup. “See you later, then.”
“Right. Later.”
It was only after she walked away that he realized how much he was looking forward to later, and how long an hour suddenly seemed.
Forty-five minutes later Scarlett faced herself in the mirror in her room—and could have cheerfully buried her head in a sack! Train wrecks didn’t leave this much devastation behind.
She brushed a straggling curl away from her face with the back of her wrist and gave in to a groan. In the rush to get dinner ready and then clean up the kitchen and the dining room, she’d forgotten about her hair. She looked like a brillo pad that had mated with a dust mop.
Her French braid had lost any semblance of style by noon, when the heat had coaxed strand by curly strand to break free. The episodes with Casey’s puppies—who were going to be fish food soon if they didn’t clean up their act—hadn’t helped, either. Twice today she’d had to chase those two little hellions out of her garden, out of the boat house, then, finally, she’d had to drag them out from under the back porch when their pathetic little cries had gotten to her. Why she had ever let Casey talk her into taking one—let alone two—of Nashata’s pups was beyond her at the moment.
It’s because she was a pushover, she conceded irritably. When her friends Abel and Mackenzie Greene had offered Casey the puppies, she’d caved in like a dry-rotted mine shaft. The chocolate Lab, wolf-dogcross pups had been irresistible.
