“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” Ms. Littleton intoned majestically.
“Is that a quote?”
“Arthur C. Clarke, dear. A very famous science fiction writer.”
Bailey smiled. She liked that. “He’s got a point. Even in the bars around town, there are ongoing arguments about whether the effects of this place have to do with geology or the spirit world. Whether it’s a gateway to the divine or just a pile of pretty rocks, that sort of thing. But we do all agree it’s definitely something. Maybe that’s why your friends told you to come here. Maybe you need to explore it for yourself to find out.”
“You are good, and you make a very intriguing point.” Ms. Littleton’s eyes twinkled with excitement behind the yellow frames of her glasses. “I am interested in experiencing that vortex energy I’ve heard about. Do you really think I should?”
“I really do. In fact…” Bailey pulled out the brochure she’d folded up in the back pocket of her shorts for this occasion. Her gardening gloves made her fumble. “Oops. Sorry about the dirt. I saved this for you because I thought you might like it. There’s an astronomy group that meets up a few times a week in the canyon. This one is happening tonight. After you take your tour, maybe you’d like to check it out? You already know the stargazing here is out of this world. And you might find a few likeminded observers to talk to who have the answers you’re looking for.”
“You saved this for me?” She held it as if it were something fragile before placing it carefully in her purse. “That settles it. I guess now is as good a time as any to see what I can see. I doubt I’ll be out that late.”
“I’ll wait up for you if you are, so don’t worry,” Bailey promised. “And have fun.”
“Thank you, Miss Bailey. I’m so glad I decided to stay here.”
“So am I.”
She started down the walk, then hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. “If you could keep an eye on my things while I’m gone? There’s so much activity here today, and my notebooks are priceless. They contain some of my first communications with you-know-who.”
Ms. Littleton had mentioned her contact more than a dozen times in the few days she’d been here. An alien prince. It sounded—yes, a little outside of the norm—but also sort of romantic.
“Will do.” Bailey watched her disappear down the sidewalk, hoping the woman would trip into some real-world fun while waiting for her extraterrestrial royal romance.
She couldn’t help feeling responsible for her guests’ happiness. They’d chosen her small piece of paradise, lacking in amenities as it was, and she wanted them to leave fully satisfied with the experience.
And she did love their stories. Kaya called her nosy, but it made her feel connected. Part of something bigger than herself. This inn had heard so many stories over the years, and after she was gone, she would be one of them. It was a comforting thought.
As for her guests, if, after hearing their particular tale of woe or glory, she gently guided them in a direction they may not have originally planned but desperately needed? Well. It was no fancy chocolate on the pillow or hot stone massage, but she worked with what she had.
She’d done her best with old lady Enchanted as well. The Enchanted Inn had called to her as soon as she’d seen it. There you are, it had said. Welcome home.
Young as she was at the time, Bailey had cynically chalked it up to hunger pangs and a slight case of heat stroke. Still, she’d managed to impress the grumpy old skinflint who owned the place. Pikeson had agreed to let her stay on a pallet in the storage room for a day or two, if she did yardwork and straightened up the front porch.
This garden was how she’d won him over.
He hadn’t had one, which was a shame because the run-down house-turned-inn, with its faded white adobe brick and aging red roof tiles, had zero curb appeal. She’d gone out into the desert to hunt for interesting rocks and plants, trading the last of her possessions for paint, some good soil and a few perennials to make something special.
She’d expanded on it over the years, creating a xeriscape that required minimal maintenance and irrigation. Groupings of blue agave, shrubs of pink desert beardtongue, colorful pampas grass and yucca plants. The desert was full of life and color, and she wanted to show it off in style.
Near the porch was a small boulder she’d talked several local artists into decorating. They’d painted the word WELCOME, each letter a scene depicting life in Sedona. It always brought a smile to her face, as did the metal lizard sculpture her friend Fran had made to lounge on top.
Some teal paint on the front door and matching swings she’d installed on the front and back porch added the finishing touches that made the inn look more like a home. The only one she’d ever known.
Her green thumb was all she’d ever gotten from her mother. Bailey had grown up twenty minutes away in Cottonwood. A dull place, in her opinion, until you got to the Wagner mobile home. Stacy Wagner never had much luck in love or career choices, but she’d created a secret garden in their front yard that should have won awards.
She’d called it window dressing, and it had done its job hiding the truth from the neighbors. The truth was that love wasn’t required to make a garden or a child grow, and Stacy never really took to being a mother.
Bailey would always remember coming home from school to find the goodbye note on the fridge. Her mother left Post-it notes on how to keep her plants alive, but she hadn’t told her teenage daughter how to pay the lot rent, or balance school with a job that paid enough to afford groceries.
She didn’t like to dwell on those first few years alone and what she did to survive. As far as she was concerned, her life had started after she’d seen that postcard of Sedona and decided to leave her past behind. It was literally right down the road, but it might as well have been on another planet with how different it was from her hometown.
Coming here was like turning on a light after years in darkness. Sedona was everything bright and full of possibilities—not to mention populated with the most interesting people she’d ever met. An entire town of runaways, running-froms and running-tos. From mystics to millionaires, every one of them was looking for their own piece of paradise.
Her friend Dani had been a runaway—Bailey recognized the broken look in her eyes the moment they met—and having just escaped from a violent man, it took her months to stop jumping every time a door opened. To remember who she’d been before she was afraid.
After seeing the ex in action, Bailey couldn’t blame her for the drastic steps she’d taken to start over, or for what Liam Cane had done in secret to ensure her safety.
She thought that was part of why they were all drawn to each other. Dani, Kaya and Bailey had nothing obvious in common, but they all had pasts they wanted to put behind them. And they’d found a safe haven here. Friendship and sisterhood. A second chance.
This inn had been hers.
Bailey curled her gloved hands and studied the garden again. In some ways she was still her mother’s daughter. Focused on hiding the flaws with pretty packaging.
She’d come out here because this was something that was hers. Something she could control. It stung her pride that in less than twenty-four hours, Locke had already taken care of things she’d never been able to.
She should be grateful. Her guests would be safer and more comfortable. She could now offer them homecooked meals instead of wrinkled takeout menus. She could focus on their satisfaction, instead of racing to keep the bathrooms clean and the beds freshly made.
These were all good things, she told herself firmly, gazing up at the roofline where the men had been productively flexing all morning. And the eye candy wasn’t bad either.
Celeste hadn’t told her she was hiring new employees, but Bailey wouldn’t complain. They were glorious, and they’d been removing all the old clay tiles since breakfast, tossing the broken ones into the construction roll-off and carefully preserving the intact ones in
stacks to recycle through a local dealer, all while wearing smiles that could melt a heart at fifty paces.
One of the dynamic duo appeared to be missing at the moment. Buffly—which was the name she’d given him when he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself—had disappeared and taken his fabulously chiseled abs with him.
The blond she’d named Thor caught her looking and offered a genial wave. She lifted her hand politely in return, her smile fading when she remembered that she’d put out drinks but hadn’t offered them anything to eat. Maybe she could get Ava to make them sandwiches. Bodies like that needed fuel. They also needed to be treasured and protected at all costs.
“If you keeping staring like that, Aaron might get the wrong idea.”
The smooth, subtly-accented voice nearly turned her knees to butter, but she managed to turn his way without tripping over her feet and embarrassing herself. There he was. Tall and lean with light brown skin, pouty lips and the kind of curls she would kill for. Hello, Buffly.
“I was wondering if either of you were hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” he assured her with a small smile that begged her to take that the wrong way. “At the moment, however, I’m more interested in quenching my thirst. This water is for us, yes?”
Though his words were polite, his eyes were anything but. They scanned her boldly, taking in her gardening gear. She was wearing a pair of bedazzled jean shorts and her favorite tie dye tankini that suddenly felt too tight to contain her breasts. He licked his lips and the temperature instantly jumped a degree or ten.
“For you,” she said dumbly, her brain melting from the sudden heatwave.
What was wrong with her? Other than years of drought where she wasn’t interested in sex, and nobody worth her time showed any inclination of wanting to change her mind. In the last two days she’d had two of the hottest men she’d ever seen giving her serious fuck-me vibes. Vibes she desperately wanted to give in to.
Was there something in the water?
They weren’t that much alike. Cameron Locke was a gorgeous, grumpy mountain wrapped in finery and fancy boots. Buffly was younger and leaner, more approachable but somehow a little more dangerous. Definitely more shirtless. That last bit was what had her tripping over her tongue.
All they had in common was the look in their eyes. Focused and intense. On her.
It’s called lust, Bailey. They’re men. They aren’t that complicated.
It was more than that, though lust was enough since it wasn’t one-sided. For most of last night, she’d barely felt anything else. After Cameron’s visit, she’d almost broken her most reliable vibrator. And then there was that dream that had come out of nowhere. She would have sworn she hadn’t had time to fall asleep yet, but that was the only way she could explain the most vivid fantasy of her life, with Locke in a starring role.
Even in your dream you were only watching. How sad is that?
“For me?” Buffly repeated. From his smug smile she had a feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.
“And Aaron,” she added awkwardly. “Water for anyone who needs it, really.”
Shut up.
“Grazie.”
“Sure. No problem.” Where had Celeste found this beautiful demigod and how did she know Italian accents were Bailey’s weakness?
He bent to open the cooler and she bit back an appreciative whimper. Ms. Littleton would probably call what she was feeling now “the vapors.”
He twisted the cap off his bottle and took several deep gulps of water, allowing some to escape and splash along his chin and chest. That cleared the haze of arousal enough to make her smile. She could tell it was a practiced move, mostly because she wasn’t an idiot and she watched a healthy amount of porn, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate it. She liked people who worked for what they wanted, and it was effective.
“That’s enough of that, Buffly,” she admonished, a little more breathlessly than she’d intended. “We don’t like wasting water here in the desert, and Celeste isn’t paying you to do an R-rated Evian commercial.”
He choked at her words, almost fumbling the bottle in surprise. So cute.
Please don’t let him be younger than I am.
“Since you’re here, have you been able to find out where that noise was coming from?”
He stared as if he were no longer sure what to make of her. Why? Were most women down for the count after that water move?
“Your roof was a crime scene,” he told her, still looking confused, “and it hasn’t been touched since the seventies, which I’m told is the limit for this type of material. We’ll find out since we’re in the process of replacing it, but based on what you described, I believe there might be another reason.”
Fifty years. Her first thought was that her budget couldn’t afford it, but then she remembered Pikeson no longer had the final say on those decisions. “You think it’s something inside the attic, don’t you?”
Because that was her luck.
“You tell me,” Buffly replied. “I heard you went up there last night.”
Had Locke told Celeste? He must have skipped the part where she didn’t quite get all the way into the attic.
She supposed if she had to make another attempt, it would be a good idea to do it while two strong men who weren’t afraid of heights were within screaming distance. “Almost. Let me go get a ladder from the shed and check it out. On my way up I’ll see if we can’t get a few sandwiches started for you and Aaron to go with that water.”
Bailey was proud of herself for walking around him without ogling or stepping on a rake. She was rounding the side of the inn, pulling off her gloves and psyching herself up for the climb, when she realized he was walking beside her.
She threw him a sidelong look. “Where are you going?”
“Offer me food and I’ll follow you anywhere.” His grin was disarming. “I’m Davide, by the way. Though you can still call me Buffly if you prefer. Here to help.”
Chapter Five
“Well, I’m always happy to meet a helpful man, Davide. You can call me Bailey.”
She couldn’t believe she’d called him Buffly to his face.
“I know all about you, Bailey Wagner.”
“You think you do.” She poked him in the side with her elbow. Wow. No give at all. “Don’t believe everything Celeste tells you. Unless I’m doing Jell-O shots or you mess with one of my friends, I’m usually very nice.”
“Who is Celeste?”
He beat her into the shed and was reaching for the ladder before she had the chance to get to the door. The man had impressive speed and his back muscles were mesmerizing. “Huh?”
“I’ve never met anyone named Celeste. Is she the one you kissed?” He turned and caught her staring, a knowing look in his dark gaze. “See anything you like?”
Of course she saw something she liked, but now she was thoroughly confused. “How would you know that if Celeste wasn’t your boss? Did she change her mind about taking the job? I left a message for her last night and told Locke to—”
“Now that name, I know well,” he interrupted, carrying the ladder under one arm as if it weighed nothing. “But I believe he asked you to call him Cam.”
How did he know that? “How do you know that?”
His answer was a mysterious smile, and then she was staring at his back again as she followed him around the house and into the inn. She waved at Ava and requested sandwiches before scowling at the perfect, bitable ass climbing the stairs in front of her. It was so round and bubbly. He must do lunges in his sleep.
“I’m not going to stop asking,” she muttered.
“Persistence is a virtue. Or was that patience?” He stopped in the hallway and reached up to pull open the attic door with ease. Last night she’d been wishing for a handyman to help with things like this, but her situation had been too perilous to go into details.
Davide, the bare-chested temptation of a roofer, was not what she’d had in min
d. She was sure he was capable, but she’d never get any work done with him around. He was simply too pretty, and his triceps were like diamonds.
Maybe there was a gas leak to go along with the attic noises? It would explain the last twenty-four hours of her life so well.
“You’re a little thing, so this could have hurt. I’m glad Cam was here to catch you.”
“Yeah, me too.” She pushed her admiration for his charms to the side and attempted to stare him down. The way he was avoiding her questions while dropping info bombs along with Locke’s name was oddly purposeful. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her, other than he knew Cameron Locke, but she was through playing around. “Are you a roofer or a spy for the new boss?”
“I’m a roofer today.” He placed the ladder against the opening, testing its stability before turning toward her. When the size of him forced her back a step, his light-brown eyes widened with appreciation. “You’re quick.”
“I’d take the compliment, but you’re really not as subtle as you think you are,” she shot back. And did his eyes seem lighter?
He grinned. “So I’ve been told. I’m curious. Have you told your friend your idea about a garden wedding yet?”
Bailey blinked in surprise. Another info bomb. But besides Kaya, she didn’t think she’d mentioned her dream about Dani’s wedding to anyone, other than—
“Wait a minute. The emails! Are you Sincerely, D?”
“In the flesh.”
Most of her irritation melted away with his reveal. “Why didn’t you say so right away? Welcome to Sedona. Do you know how odd it’s been not to wake up to several hysterically sarcastic emails from Locke’s invaluable assistant these last few days? What is the man who ‘secretly runs everything’ doing climbing roofs and carrying ladders for some pesky innkeeper?”
“You’re not pesky, and I wear many hats. One of my jobs is to get the lay of the land. To protect Cameron from those who might want to take advantage, personally or professionally. And I wanted to meet you in person. Nice to finally meet you, Bailey.”
A Sinful Trap Page 5