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Authors: Cindy Gerard

BOOK: A Bride For Crimson Falls
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“And then another ten explaining why it wasn’t my fault I made a laughingstock of myself?” He gave a dismissive and good-natured shake of his head. “Not my style.”
His style, it seemed, was to take it on his jutting, masculine chin and move on. This surprised her; she grudgingly admired his grace under fire.
He surprised her again with the sincerity and the straightforwardness of his next statement. “I know this is an imposition. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, mimicking his polite tone, then wondering why she hadn’t gagged on the words. Talk about surprises. She’d just flat-out fibbed. She minded. She minded big-time that he was here.
Lying—even a white lie for the sake of decorum—was not her style. However, she didn’t correct it; in fact, she compounded it. “Crimson Falls is part yours now. Your interest is understandable.”
Deeper and deeper. She didn’t find his being here understandable at all. And she couldn’t comprehend why she didn’t know how to act around this man or why he set her on the sharp side of a very nervous edge.
Yes, she did, she admitted finally. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it. It was physical. Pure. Potent. Profound.
She hadn’t recognized the feeling at first, because it had been so long since she’d experienced it. She’d thought her experience with John and their divorce had awarded her lifelong immunity from the opposite sex. Apparently she’d been wrong.
It wasn’t as if she never saw attractive men—although, granted, if most of the men who stayed at the hotel didn’t smell like fish and look like bears when they got here, they did by the time they left. But there had been the occasional single, attractive male who had expressed interest. Their interest and hers, however, peaked at opposite ends of the scale.
So what was different about this man? Sure, he was sleek and sexy and self-assured. Not to mention sophisticated, worldly and wildly attractive. And his voice, she’d decided, would sound seductive reading a weather report.
It was more than that. It was how he made her aware of herself, as a woman who’d ignored the sensual side of her nature for too long, as a woman lacking in the social graces and sophistication a man like him was accustomed to experiencing.
“Scarlett?”
His voice penetrated her thoughts like a splash of lake water.
“What?” she said quickly, when she realized she’d been standing there like an extension of the counter. “What? Did I miss something?”
He smiled. Slow and cautious and undeniably amused. “I’ve heard that those short vacations are great.”
She felt her face flush as scarlet as her name. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little preoccupied. With preparing dinner and all.”
She let out a big breath, reluctantly met his eyes, which were now probing hers with undisguised curiosity, and gave it up.
“Oh, hell.” She tossed the towel onto the counter and propped her fists on her hips. Her unprecedented reaction to him had done more than rattle her. It had made her forget who she was and what she stood for. She didn’t lie. She didn’t posture. And she sure as the world didn’t call a shovel a teaspoon. It was time for some honesty.
“The bald truth, Mr. Slater, is that I’m preoccupied because of
you
. I lied when I said it wasn’t a problem for you to be here. I lied when I said I understand that you want to check out your investment. The fact of the matter is—”
“You resent my presence? You don’t want me meddling?” he suggested, walking up beside her.
Her chin went up a notch. She shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, but yes. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that—”
Again he supplied the words she hadn’t quite worked up the candor to voice. “You needed my money, not my advice.”
Because his conclusions were so dead-on accurate, she averted her gaze from eyes that had gone soft with understanding. She fussed at a stain on the countertop.
“You know, you’re making it awfully hard to dislike you.”
“Good. Because you’re going to have to trust me on this one. There’s no need. I’m not here because I’m interested in my investment.”
Her head came up. She eyed him with doubt of the hopeful variety. “No?”
“No.”
He sounded sincere. He looked the part, too. She would like to accept that he was, but if there was one thing she’d learned about men from her ex, it was that they rarely did something for no reason. Even though her opinion of Colin Slater had risen with his candor, she was skeptical that she’d come face-to-face with the exception.
“Then I guess that prompts the obvious question,” she said, taking her doubt to the limit. “Why
are
you here, Mr. Slater?”
He flashed her a quick, fidgety smile then began wandering restlessly around the kitchen. “Better make it Colin, since it looks like I’m going to be stuck here for a couple of weeks.”
Scarlett had to turn in a slow circle to follow his progress. He made her think of a cat on the prowl. A big, predatory cat, his eyes alert and watchful, his dark chestnut hair sleek and full-bodied.
“To answer your question,” he said, still on the move, “I’m here because well-intentioned friends and family decided I needed a vacation.” The tight compression of his lips relayed pure irritation.
He stopped his restless wandering long enough to pick up a quart jar of green beans that she’d canned earlier this summer. He studied the jar, set it down with a distracted frown, then shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I stand accused of being a workaholic. I believe the term
burnout
also came up. Oh, and
battle fatigue
—they really liked that one. In their
learned
opinions, I need a rest.”
She didn’t doubt the workaholic reference. The way he moved around the room, the stiff set of his shoulders, relaying his tension, spoke to an underlying energy and drive. She wasn’t, however, prepared to accept his statement on faith.
“On the level? You really didn’t come here intending to flex a little fiscal muscle on the hotel?”
He made a soft sound of derision. “On the level.”
She should have felt relief. And in a way, she did. If what he was saying was true, however, another budding suspicion, equally disturbing, set her back on that edge she suspected was every bit as cutting as his.
“These well-intentioned friends,” she began slowly. “Would J. D. Hazzard happen to be among them?”
He snorted. “Among them? He’s the ringleader. At least from this end. It was his idea that since I was getting away, I should ‘get away’ here.”
“His idea? Really.” She tapped a thumb against her lips, thinking of all of J.D.’s posturing about Slater coming to check out his investment. “And you really didn’t come here to change the way we do business?”
He raised his hands, palms up in supplication. “What else can I say? You’re going to have to trust me on this. I have no interest in this hotel.”
“I’m not a naturally suspicious person,” she said, a frown furrowing her brow, “but if that’s the case, why did you get in on the raffle?”
Again he stopped pacing. Again, he picked up a jar—her blueberry jam this time—and studied it with a distracted scowl before setting it back on the shelf. “J.D. said it was for a good cause. Preserving the past and all that. Historical enhancement.”
“And you accept everything J.D. tells you at face value?”
He shrugged. “He’s never given me a reason not to.”
“Until now,” she said as her suspicions began to solidify.
He turned to her, his frown deepening. “Are you saying the money isn’t going for a good cause?”
Reluctantly she met his eyes. With even more reticence she voiced her thoughts aloud. “I’m saying,” she began with caution, “that I think I’m beginning to. smell a rat the size of an airplane—a float plane to be exact—piloted by none other than your friend and mine, J.D. Born-To-Be-a-Meddler-Hazzard.”
While Slater stood there, his eyes darkening to slate, Scarlett’s suspicions became more and more clear. She and her reluctant partner had been set up by a master.
“Damn that man,” she muttered. “If Maggie wasn’t such a good friend, I would cheerfully strangle that blond, bad-boy husband of hers the next time he shows his devious, grinning face around here.”
“Look, this is really fun,” he said, sounding as if he’d prefer another dunk in the lake to this conversation, “but would you mind being a little more specific?”
Scarlett eyed him with guarded concern. “You’re not going to like
specific
.”
“I’m not going to like paying my taxes this year, either, but that doesn’t mean I can avoid it.”
She gave him one last, measuring look and decided it was inescapable. “You’d better sit down.”
Two
H
e didn’t sit down, of course. He stood facing her, legs spread, arms folded over his chest, as Scarlett shook her head. “I can’t believe I was so gullible.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. When she did, she forgot all about her intended resentment and actually felt sorry for him.
“Don’t you get it? J.D. had well-thought-out and convoluted ulterior motives for getting you up here.”
“Convoluted ulterior motives?”
The man may be a corporate whiz and he may be gorgeous, but he was a little too slow on the uptake to suit her. She really didn’t want to put this part into words, so she decided to lead him to his own conclusions.
“Okay, he leveled with you about the significance of saving the hotel, of preserving the land and the lake the way it has been for hundreds of years. But, what, exactly, did J.D. tell you about me?”
His dark brows drew together. “About you?”
She nodded, reading his blank look for what it was. The man had no clue.
He thought for a moment then shrugged. “I don’t know. That you were struggling to make the hotel work. That you were...” His words trailed off as a shadow of comprehension slowly clouded his face.
“That I was...?” she prompted.
Closing his eyes, he raked a hand through his hair, then recounted wearily, “He said that you were intelligent. That you had a great sense of humor. Were a wonderful cook. A good mother. A good single mother.”
“What?” she asked, when his sheepish look told her he finally realized he’d been had. “He didn’t mention that I have all my teeth?”
“That would probably come under the attractive part,” he admitted with a quick, self-deprecating smile. “Damn. I’m usually a little quicker out of the gate.”
He cupped his palm around his nape and let go of a deep breath. “So...it seems our
pal
had a little more than rest and relaxation on his mind when he initiated this little retreat.”
“Our
pal
is a snake,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “A miserable, misguided, bona fide, serpent-in-Eden snake. He is
allays
trying to match me up with someone. It’s been worse since he married Maggie last fall. But this—this fries it.” She stopped, suddenly more embarrassed than angry. “Look. Up-front, you need to know that I had nothing to do with this.”
He walked to the counter beside her. “Same goes. I can’t believe I was so clueless.”
“It’s absurd. You—I mean—look at you. Look at
me
.”
Colin
was
looking at her. Truth to tell, the only time he hadn’t been looking at her was when he’d been busy trying not to. And despite the obvious differences, he was liking what he was seeing.
She wasn’t anything like the women he was used to, most of whom, unlike her, would never be caught in daylight without the aid of Elizabeth Arden. But J.D. was right: Scarlett Morgan was one attractive woman.
From the moment he’d walked into the kitchen and seen her and Casey side by side, he’d been struck by her natural beauty. He’d also been struggling with the mother-daughter relationship. It was an old cliché, but in this case it hit dead center: Scarlett could easily pass for Casey’s older sister.
Their resemblance to each other was also quite striking. Not only was their hair the same strawberry blond, they both chose to wear it in a French braid. On the daughter it looked cute. On the mother it looked nothing but sexy. Kind of a supposed-to-beneat-but-can’ t-help-looking-a-littte-wild sort of sexy. Just like the sparse smattering of freckles, almost lost in the summer tan of her face, and the smudge of frosting on her cheek, which gave her a wholesome yet disarmingly seductive look. Her arms were the same glowing bronze and made him think of health and vitality instead of damaged ozones and UV rays. An overwhelming curiosity to find out if her skin was the same honeyed gold all over hit him hard and low.
Not that he’d act on that curiosity. Or on this unexpected attraction he felt toward her. As she’d been wise enough to point out, they lived in different worlds, and he was making a brief pass through hers.
That conclusion, though obvious, caused an unsolicited sting of regret to stir fleetingly through his mind. Employing the discipline that had made him so successful, he dismissed it as quickly as it came.
“This explains so much,” she went on, expounding on her conclusions. “Like why J.D. wasn’t here today when you docked. And why he was so busy trying to make me believe the only reason you were coming to Crimson Falls was to check out your investment. It was a smoke screen.”
“Just like his insistence that I not only get away, but that I get away here,” he said, adding his own charges to the list of Hazzard’s transgressions.
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
He had no doubt that she meant it. “It’s not your doing.”
“Well.” She offered him a weak smile. “There is one thing. At least you can get the rest you need. If you want to relax, Crimson Falls is the place to do it.”
“If I wanted to relax,” he countered, not even trying to cover his sarcasm as he wandered to the screen door, looked outside and wondered distractedly at the wire fence strung in a circle around it, “I’d hire a masseuse. I wouldn’t fly off to the edge of nowhere, where the only game plan is to bounce off the walls with boredom.”
Even before he turned back to face her, he sensed that he’d hit a nerve. A very raw nerve, judging by the look on her face. She wasn’t merely angry. She was royally ticked off. And she was something to see in that state. The most notable change was in her eyes. Warm, melting chocolate transformed to a hot, spicy cinnamon.
Another one of those unguarded thoughts breached both his reserve and his resistance. What would they look like fired by passion? The possibilities were as provocative as black silk; the desire to kindle that passion as forbidden as a broken vow.
“Crimson Falls may seem like the edge of nowhere to you,” she said, all righteous indignation and feminine pique, “but it’s my home and I like it fine just the way it is. I’m sorry you find it lacking.”
When he managed to tear his gaze away from the fire in hers, he collected his thoughts and offered the apology he owed her. “And I’m sorry for the way that came out. I didn’t mean to step on any toes. It’s just that I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Which my buddy Hazzard has managed to do quite easily. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It’s very...quiet here, is all. It makes me a little nervous. I’m used to a lot more—”
“Noise pollution? Smog? Muggings?” she suggested with an acerbic little smile that pried a quick, self-mocking grin out of him—something she’d been doing with an increasing amount of ease ever since he’d come into the kitchen.
She had a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit. Both of which he appreciated—almost as much as her eyes.
“Excitement was the word I was searching for,” he countered, realizing as he said it that, as excitement went, Scarlett Morgan had generated a little of her own. She was not the kind of distraction he’d anticipated finding out here in the midst of all this water, woods and solitude.
Another one of her soft, secret smiles had him smiling in return. “What?” he asked. “You just thought of another joke somebody forgot to let me in on?”
“Actually, I was finding a sick sort of humor in all of this. It occurs to me that J.D. went to a boatload of trouble setting us up. He had me resenting you sight unseen for interfering in my business. And that letter you wrote... Ah...” She paused, reacting to his “what letter?” scowl. “I should have known. You didn’t write any letter, did you?”
He shook his head. “What was it that I didn’t write in this letter?”
She waved it off. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say he managed to make you come off as a prude of major proportions and then sat there defending you and begging me to give you a chance. He was really quite wonderful,” she added with a reluctant chuckle of admiration, before she sobered and gave him a meaningful look. “We can’t let him get by with this.”
The devious spark that lit her eyes was just this side of dangerous, not to mention irresistible.
“I suppose staking him to an ant hill would be out of the question.”
She took her time considering. “Not necessarily. We’ll keep it as a backup plan if I can’t come up with something nastier. But I do like the way you think.”
They shared a quick, conspiratorial grin. As olive branches went, it was a big one. What they shared in the aftermath of that grin, however, went way beyond making peace and delved into something risky for Colin. Awareness—of her smile, of the brown eyes that danced with humor and pride, of an unbendable spirit and a suppressed sensuality—crowded around him like a sweet, tantalizing liqueur. Tempting, teasing, playing with his senses and luring him in.
She would try to deny it, but he sensed that she felt it, too. He understood her struggle to keep the awareness at bay—was grateful, in fact, that she had the sense to. He wasn’t so sure if he was capable of the same restraint.
Unsettled by the suddenness and the strength of his attraction to her, he started pacing again, determined to get some perspective.
You’re talking about two weeks here, Slater.
Two weeks and he’d be gone. Now was not the time, this was not the place, and she was definitely not the woman to start something with that he couldn’t finish. End of discussion.
Scarlett watched him pace, thinking that in her entire life she couldn’t remember fielding such a muddled mess of contradictory emotions in such a short time span. She’d been prepared to grudgingly tolerate Colin Slater. She’d been anticipating suffering through the inquiries of a dull, fiscal mind. Instead, in addition to being unwisely attracted to him, she found herself liking him, enjoying his sense of humor.
While all of that added up to
pleasant
in the surprise department, she’d have felt a lot more comfortable around him if he’d had the doughboy body and pasty city pallor she’d envisioned. He was too handsome, too masculine, too vital to ever feel comfortable around physically.
Despite that, though, she felt an unsolicited tug of sympathy for him as he roamed around her kitchen, looking irritable and anxious and amazingly attractive in spite of it. He hadn’t asked for any of this, either.
And unfortunately she wasn’t finished springing surprises on him.
Intentionally avoiding contact—eye, body or otherwise—she walked to the fridge, opened the door and decided to get on with it.
“As long as we’re uncovering subterfuge, I’m afraid there’s another contender to deal with. Casey’s also played a little trick on you.”
“Well, what the hell.” He sounded weary and resigned and just cranky enough to make her lips quirk upward. “Why not her, too? After all, it’s hard to resist a slow-moving target.
“I’m going to take a wild guess,” he went on, “and venture that you’re not referring to the two times her hand
accidentally
slipped when she was hauling me out of the lake?”
That child!
Scarlett thought, keeping her head down, her eyes on the lettuce she’d dug out of the back of the crisper.
“Well, you’ve got to admit,” she said, unsuccessful at squelching another grin, “you’ve got a few pounds on her.”
“And she’s got a sly sense of humor,” he suggested, but not in anger.
Giving him more points for his tolerance toward her daughter, she let go of the last remnant of her resentment. “That she does. And it’s that sense of humor that leads me back to the subject of your accommodations... specifically, your room.”
“Oh. Then you’re talking about the ghost thing.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “So she
did
tell you.”
“What she told me was that she was putting me in the most popular guest room because it’s believed to be haunted. By the spirit of a soiled dove if I remember her story correctly. How did she refer to it? ‘The Legend of the Bride of Crimson Falls’.”
Scarlett shrugged, accepting the skepticism in his eyes for what it was. “That would be the short of it.”
“And what would be the long of it?” Leaning a hip against the counter beside her, he managed to look amused, gorgeous and bored all at the same time.
She didn’t blame him for being a nonbeliever She would be one herself if she hadn’t lived in the hotel for the past six years. Like anyone grounded in reality, she’d tried to rationalize the unexplained phenomena as being coincidence, weather related, electrical failures... whatever. Finally it just became simpler to accept the possibility that Belinda—or more precisely, Belinda’s spirit—was a presence in the hotel, and to learn to live with it. Whatever the explanation, living with the things that went on in Belinda’s room meant never putting a man in there. It kept the atmosphere in the hotel much calmer and kept her male guests from running from the room and boarding the next boat for anywhere.
In any event, whether Belinda was or wasn’t a reality really didn’t matter. Neither did Colin Slater’s skepticism. What mattered was getting him out of that room.

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