by Amanda Cabot
Marisa did. Unlike Kate, who appeared to be thriving in what she would have termed disarray, Marisa needed a highly organized work environment.
“I hope you’ll be as happy here as Greg and I are,” Kate continued.
“Did I hear my name?” The tall man with brown hair, green eyes, and a square chin grinned as he entered the room and extended his hand to Marisa. “Welcome to Rainbow’s End. Kate and I are fortunate to have someone with your credentials as part of the team. Neither one of us could make much sense of the Sinclairs’ records.”
Marisa nodded. She had dealt with clients who kept their receipts in shoe boxes and others who kept no receipts at all, expecting their suppliers to provide them with year-end summaries. Surely whatever the previous owners had done couldn’t be that bad. And if it was, Marisa was trained to deal with that. The software issue was different. While Marisa was comfortable using standard accounting software, she had no experience with hotel reservations.
“Olivia said the reservation system is confusing.”
Kate shot Greg a look that said, I told you so. “That’s a major understatement. We definitely need a new one.”
At least they’d recognized the need.
“I’ve got a stack of brochures from systems that look promising, but the decision is yours,” Greg told her.
“It’s too bad the Sys=Simpl software won’t work,” Marisa said, referring to the system that had made Greg a billionaire. “I’ve read nothing but rave reviews of it.”
His shrug surprised her. She had expected him to display pride of authorship. “It’s designed for manufacturing companies, not the hospitality industry,” he said.
“I suggested he design something for us,” Kate interjected.
“And I told her I was out of that business. We need something already developed.”
Marisa agreed with Greg. She’d seen the delays caused by one of her clients trying to develop their own software and didn’t want to risk that.
“I’ve had experience selecting accounting packages, but this is new for me. I’d like to spend some time looking at the existing records and the system you’re currently using before I make a recommendation.”
Kate nodded. “That sounds like a plan. How long do you think that’ll take?”
“Two or three weeks.” Though Marisa knew she could muddle through with a second-rate system, she didn’t want to leave her successor with something kludgy.
When Kate started to frown, Marisa amended her estimate. “I’ll try to be finished by the time you get back from your honeymoon.” She glanced from Kate to Greg and then back to Kate. “Where are you going, or is it a secret?”
“Europe, and it’s no secret,” Kate replied.
“Kate told me she dreamt about us walking under the Eiffel Tower and riding in a gondola in Venice.”
“So Greg decided to make my dreams come true.”
Marisa grinned. “My mouth is watering, thinking about French pastries and Italian gelato.”
“You’re definitely your mother’s daughter,” Kate said, rubbing her stomach as if she had just devoured a delicious treat. “She makes the most incredible meals I’ve ever eaten.”
“Mom loves to cook. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised she’s not catering your reception.” Mom had mentioned that when she’d volunteered, Kate and Greg had refused her offer, claiming they couldn’t impose on her.
Kate exchanged what appeared to be a guilty look with her fiancé. “Didn’t Carmen tell you? She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and when she knew you were going to be here, she said you’d help supervise the high school kids she’s enlisted to do most of the work. It’s an extra credit project for them.”
Marisa sighed inwardly. That sounded like Mom: overextending herself to help someone else. If she had known about the catering, Marisa would have asked for an additional week to complete the software evaluation, but now that she’d committed, she didn’t want to back down. She’d simply have to work extra hours after the wedding. “At least Rainbow’s End won’t have any guests,” she said.
No doubt about it. Greg’s expression was sheepish. “Actually, there will be one. One of my college buddies needs a place to stay for a couple weeks, so I told him he could use my cabin after Saturday.”
“Oh, Greg, you didn’t!” It was clear that Kate wasn’t party to that agreement. “Marisa doesn’t need anything else to do.” And with Kate and Greg gone, she would be in charge of the resort.
There was only one possible response. “It won’t be a problem.” I hope.
The people who’d claimed that the Texas Hill Country was one of the prettiest places on earth hadn’t exaggerated, Blake reflected as he followed his GPS’s directions. The rolling green hills, the trees so different from those he was accustomed to in California, and the deep blue sky were all magnificent. It might not be the Garden of Eden, as he’d heard one person call it, but it was definitely beautiful.
His flight had been uneventful, and since it was Saturday morning, traffic had been light. Once he’d left San Antonio, he’d found himself starting to relax.
Blake frowned. He didn’t need relaxation. He needed ideas. When he’d called Jack Darlington to say he’d be out of town with only sporadic cell service for a few weeks, he’d carefully sidestepped his agent’s questions about the new book. He didn’t need anyone, including the man who lived quite well on his 15 percent commission, putting more pressure on him.
“Turn left,” the surprisingly realistic mechanical voice directed.
Blake turned, his eyes registering the sign welcoming him to Dupree, the Heart of the Hills. It was a small, rather nondescript town—definitely not a place he’d send Cliff Pearson. His fictional hero’s adventures took place in world capitals and glamorous resorts, not small towns in Texas, no matter how pretty the surroundings might be.
As the rental car reached the summit of the hill just west of Dupree, Blake smiled. This might not be a spot for Cliff Pearson, but the valley was spectacular. On the right side of the road, trees in more shades of green than Blake had ever seen provided welcome shade during the late summer heat, while the left side appeared to be a meadow with only an occasional tree breaking the velvety green expanse. If this was Firefly Valley, and he suspected it must be, it was no wonder Greg had decided to stay.
Blake looked down the road, nodding when he saw the road’s abrupt ending and the sun glinting off a handful of metal roofs that ringed one edge of a sparkling lake. Rainbow’s End. Though he hadn’t expected it, a sense of anticipation bubbled up inside him.
He gave the car more gas, suddenly in a hurry to see the place Greg Vange now called home. The gates were a nice touch, seeming to welcome guests rather than exclude them. And, while the rainbow logo could appear juvenile or amateur, it didn’t. Instead, it only increased Blake’s belief that this was where he was supposed to be. This was where he’d rediscover his muse.
After parking in front of the small Tyrolean-style building whose sign identified the office, Blake hurried through the door. If this building and the charming gazebo were any indication, Rainbow’s End was an eclectic collection of cabins that seemed to be unified only by their metal roofs.
“Hello.” He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the office. No one answered. Blake looked around. Though this was clearly the place where guests would check in and out, there were no employees behind the counter. He spotted an old-fashioned bell and tapped it. No answer. Another tap. Still no answer. He turned to leave the building, but then he heard footsteps on the tile floor.
“May I help you?”
Blake spun around at the sound of a melodic voice. That voice was attached to one of the prettiest female forms he’d ever seen. The woman, whom he guessed to be in her midtwenties, was an inch or two above average height. Her long dark hair was dusted with what appeared to be flour, and her left cheek held a smudge of what was undeniably chocolate frosting, but what caught his attention were her eyes.
A warm tawny brown, they radiated both intelligence and exasperation. He hoped he wasn’t the cause of the latter.
“I’m Blake Kendall,” he said, wondering why it was suddenly so vital that this woman not be annoyed with him. He’d seen beautiful women before. He’d even dated a woman whose beauty rivaled a model’s until he’d discovered how high maintenance she was. And then there was Ashley. But now was not the time to be thinking about Ashley and her temper. She was part of the past, and this woman was definitely the present. More importantly, this woman’s appeal was more than physical. Blake felt as if they shared some deep connection. It was crazy. They’d just met and had exchanged only a few words. He had no reason to feel this way, and yet he did.
“Greg Vange is expecting me.” To Blake’s relief, his voice sounded normal.
“He is?” She appeared shocked. Was it because she’d felt that same inexplicable attraction, or was it simply that she hadn’t been told of his arrival?
Blake nodded. “He said I could stay in his cabin.”
A hint of something—confusion, perhaps—crossed her face, and she frowned. “There must have been a misunderstanding. We thought you were coming tomorrow.”
The way her eyes flickered to the side combined with the evidence that she’d obviously been frosting a cake made Blake think this woman was overloaded with work, and he’d just made it worse.
“I’m sorry. I thought Greg said to come this morning.” He was certain that was what his friend had said, but there was no reason to be emphatic about it, since the message had obviously been garbled at some point.
“Greg’s getting married in three hours and seven minutes.” The fact that she didn’t have to look at a clock to make that announcement confirmed Blake’s assumption that the lovely woman with hair the color of dark chocolate was scrambling to get things ready for the wedding. “I’m not sure where he is right now.”
“Look, miss . . .”
“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Marisa St. George.” She extended her hand in greeting.
It was only a handshake, Blake told himself. A simple touching of two palms. Nothing more than he’d done hundreds of times before. And yet this handshake was unlike any other. For the second or two that he held Marisa St. George’s hand clasped in his, Blake knew he hadn’t been mistaken. There was a connection between them, a fundamental magnetism that sent sparks shooting up his arm. And the glint in those lovely brown eyes told him she felt it too.
“I’m sorry for the confusion.” Her voice bore only the slightest of tremors. “It’s simply that my mother is catering the reception. We’re a bit behind schedule, so I was helping.”
“And I made it worse.” She didn’t have to say it. That was apparent. “The apologies are all mine. If you’ll point me to the nearest motel, I’ll stay there tonight, and we’ll try this again tomorrow.”
Marisa shook her head. “The nearest motel is more than twenty miles away.” She walked behind the counter and opened a drawer. “Let me grab the key and some sheets and towels, and I’ll show you to your cabin.”
Her manner was 100 percent business, a sharp change from the harried woman who had greeted him. It was almost as if she’d donned a mask, determined to hide her thoughts. But why? Blake would have sworn she’d felt the same attraction he had, but now Marisa St. George was acting as if that had never happened.
It had. Blake knew that.
3
What’s wrong?”
It was clear that coming back to the kitchen had been a mistake. Though Marisa had expected it to be filled with teenagers putting the final touches on the food for Kate and Greg’s reception, only Mom was there. The kids must be on one of the breaks Mom claimed were essential. That meant Marisa would have to face her mother’s version of the Spanish Inquisition when what she wanted was a chance to make sense of what had just happened. If Mom hadn’t needed her for the wedding preparations, Marisa would have taken a walk—a long walk—along the lake in an attempt to clear her mind. As it was, she couldn’t desert her mother.
“What’s wrong?” A touch of asperity colored Mom’s voice as she repeated the question.
“Nothing.” Everything. Marisa felt as if she’d been walking along a familiar path when the ground had suddenly shifted and she’d found herself free-falling into a chasm. In the blink of an eye, day had turned to a night filled with shooting stars and the brilliant undulating bands of the northern lights. Before she could register all the details, the scene had changed again, the darkness instantly transformed into the brightest day Marisa had ever experienced. It was almost like looking through a kaleidoscope, watching colors slide and shift as she turned the wheel, but there was no kaleidoscope. Whatever was happening was outside her control. The strangest part was that it had been exciting at the same time as it had been terrifying.
“You don’t look like it’s nothing. Sit down, Marisa.” Mom accompanied her words with a gentle push on Marisa’s shoulder. “I’ll get you something to eat.” Food was the Carmen St. George cure for everything.
“It’s not low blood sugar,” Marisa insisted. While it was true that she felt light-headed, lack of food was not the cause. The sensation that the world was spinning at three times its normal speed was due to Blake Kendall.
“Here, drink this.” Knowing it was futile to protest, Marisa accepted the glass of sweet tea. “I told you you were overdoing it,” Mom continued. “Just sit for a moment and take deep breaths.”
She might not need the tea, but measured breathing was good advice. Maybe then her heartbeat would return to normal. Marisa had felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her when she’d entered the lobby and seen Blake standing there. The instant she spotted him standing by the door she felt as if they’d already met—and that was before he’d turned to face her. Something was so familiar, so very familiar, about him that she held her breath, waiting for him to turn.
When he did, disappointment stabbed her. The man was a stranger. She had never seen that face, and yet, though Marisa couldn’t explain it, she couldn’t ignore the sense that they shared a connection. She was a woman who dealt with facts, not feelings, but in that moment, nothing mattered except the way she felt.
Mom folded her arms as she always did when she was deep in thought, and her eyes narrowed as she studied Marisa. “You look better now,” she announced. “There’s more color in your face.”
Though the color could have been due to the memory of the handsome stranger who hadn’t seemed like a stranger, Marisa let her mother believe it was the result of the therapeutic effects of sweet tea. “I’ll finish glazing the cakes,” she said as she started to rise.
“And wind up face-first in one? No thanks. You just sit there.” For a few seconds, the room was silent except for the squeak of a silicone spatula on glass. Then Mom spoke. “So, what does he look like?”
“Who?” Marisa wasn’t ready to talk about him, not even to her mother. Perhaps if she played innocent, the conversation would die a natural death.
“Our new guest. Greg’s friend.” She should have known Mom wouldn’t let her off the hook. “That’s who was in the lobby, wasn’t it?”
Innocence wasn’t working. “Yes. Blake Kendall.” Marisa hoped that her mother hadn’t noticed the way her voice rose as she pronounced the man’s name. It was as embarrassing as when she’d been a teenager with her first crush.
“What does he look like?”
Breathtaking. But she wouldn’t say that. Instead, Marisa tried to steady her voice as she said, “About the same height as Greg. Light brown hair, hazel eyes.” And a face she knew she’d never forget.
“Handsome?”
Oh yes! “Most women would say so.” To Marisa’s delight, she sounded far more nonchalant than she felt. Her mother would never guess what an impression Blake Kendall had made on her. She’d believe he was just another guest.
Mom stared at her for a second before she clapped her hands. “I knew it would happen.” Her
smile was the broadest Marisa had seen all day. “My little girl has met the man she’s going to marry.”
Feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach, Marisa tried to smile. She should have realized that her mother would see through her pretense, but she didn’t want to discuss Blake. Not until she’d had a chance to make sense of her reaction.
“That’s ridiculous. I just met him.” But when their hands had touched, excitement had shot through Marisa’s veins, and her palms had tingled. It wasn’t like an electrical shock—those were unpleasant, while this was a decidedly enjoyable experience—and yet it was just as unexpected and as powerful as the shock she’d gotten when she’d pulled out a plug with wet hands.
Her mother’s smile widened. “You can deny it all you want, but I know what I see. You look exactly the way I did the day I met Eric.”
And look how that had ended.
“Hey, man, good to see you. I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
Blake stared at the man standing in the cabin doorway. The cabin had been a pleasant surprise. After Drew’s description, Blake had expected a ramshackle building complete with bare bulbs for light fixtures and a sagging mattress. Instead he’d found what could almost be called a bungalow. The cinder block walls promised winter warmth and summer coolness, while the front porch provided an excellent view of Bluebonnet Lake. Inside, he’d discovered a small but apparently fully functional bathroom, a separate bedroom, and a medium-sized living area complete with a table, sofa, and two comfortable chairs. Whoever had designed the cabin had meant it to be a place for extended stays.
The cabin was not what Blake had expected. Neither was Greg. The voice was the same, the features were the same, and yet Greg looked like a different man from the one Blake had known in California. His posture was more relaxed, the lines that had bracketed his mouth were gone, but the most dramatic change was in his eyes. They radiated happiness and something else, something Blake would have described as peace.