“Kiss you?”

“Kiss me.” Kyle touched his forehead to Alice’s, repeated the incredible words, with his voice so husky it sent shivers across her skin. “Kiss me.”

“That’s—that’s n-not—”

His hands closed around her upper arms. Holding her as if he’d never let go.

She shut her eyes. Her knees were giving out. “You can’t do this. You can’t kiss me.”

“I can.”

“No.” She stared at him—boldly. Perspiration stung her eyes. With a supreme effort she battled back the heady whirl of being admired, sought, wanted. “I couldn’t do that. Company policy, isn’t it? What’s wrong for your staff is wrong for you, too.”

Kyle’s surprise gave her a slim opening. She spun and jammed the key into the lock, then slammed the door behind her without looking back because she wasn’t at all certain that she shouldn’t have kissed him exactly as he’d wanted.

Damn the consequences…

Dear Reader,

Who wouldn’t love to have A Holiday Romance? There’s something magical about the thought of being swept away by romance and adventure while on vacation from your everyday world. What better time to have a fantasy come true?

A Holiday Romance is the companion book to last year’s Nobody’s Hero, which was the story of the man who stayed at Alice Potter’s island cottage. This time, Alice gets her turn at a luxury Arizona resort. After years of putting her dreams on hold in order to give to others, Alice is determined to finally find her own adventures, even if that means stepping out of her comfort zone and into a desert monsoon. Along the way she also lands a romantic hero. Maybe even two of them!

On holiday, almost anything can happen….

XOXO,

Carrie Alexander

P.S. To see more of Alice’s postcards home, visit me on the Web at www.carriealexander.com, where you can also find my backlist, drop me a line and perhaps enter for my latest giveaway.

A Holiday Romance
Carrie Alexander

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carrie Alexander considers every book she reads a mini-vacation, although she admits that writing them is not! A prolific author and two-time RITA® Award finalist, Carrie lives year-round in her own vacation wonderland in the north country of Upper Michigan. Between deadlines and home improvement projects, she sometimes gets to enjoy it.

SWAP YOUR VACATION HOUSE AT HOLIDAYS AWAY!

Available July 21-Aug 3, Prince Montez Oasis Resort, near Phoenix, Arizona: luxurious two-bedroom condo with all the amenities. Air-conditioning, private spa, garden tub with walk-in shower. Full access to resort activities, including golf, tennis, horseback riding and adventure sports. Fine dining, boutiques, night clubs. Last-minute listing—enjoy romance under the desert stars with this rare offer!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

A N EXPERIENCED traveler would have known better.

Alice Potter scolded herself as she trekked up the wide stone steps of the grand hotel, panting and perspiring copiously even though the temperature had dropped since her arrival that afternoon. The walk from her quarters to the center of the resort had been longer and hotter than she’d expected.

July in Arizona! Most people—the smart ones—had fled north for the season. What had she been thinking?

The answer was simple. She’d been desperate to get far away from Maine. To a land of cactus and sunshine, where she could lose her old self like a snake shedding its skin. She’d expected that she would be someone different in Arizona. Someone unapologetically alive.

She licked her salty upper lip. “Bi-i-ig mistake.”

But was it?

“Ma’am?” prompted the doorman, a clean-cut fellow with apparently no sweat glands beneath his peaked cap and starched white coat. He’d opened the immense double doors, hand-carved slabs of wood inset with grids of glass framed by rustic black iron.

Alice thanked him and stepped inside.

The spacious lobby was an intimidating dazzle of light and activity. She paused to swipe a hand across her forehead, wishing she’d thought to bring a handkerchief. Surreptitiously she rubbed her palm on the flouncy fiesta skirt she’d purchased online. The white cotton eyelet top that exposed her indoor-pale arms and shoulders was already sticking to her skin.

She’d envisioned her arrival differently—a carefree stroll through a cool lobby populated by potted palms and lean, dark, mysterious men. Casablanca glamour by way of Phoenix luxury resort.

Instead, she was…well, she was still herself.

Nervous, uncertain, alone, and now sweaty, too.

But God bless central air. She sucked in a deep breath, thinking longingly of home. The fresh salt breeze that washed over the island, the cool shade of the sheltering pines. On Osprey Island, they didn’t need air-conditioning, even in summer.

For the past six years of her mother’s illness, Alice had rarely been off the island. Swapping Pine Cone Cottage for a two-week stay at a desert resort condo had been the first whim she’d indulged in in a very long time.

A member of the staff walked up to Alice and introduced herself as Chloe Weston, the assistant director of hospitality. “You look lost,” she said kindly.

“Overwhelmed,” Alice admitted. “I arrived this afternoon and I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.”

“I see. Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you situated.” Chloe’s smile was punctuated by dimples. She wore the crisp white uniform jacket with a short black skirt and low-heeled pumps. A blond ponytail bounced up and down as she bobbed her head. “You’re all checked in?”

“Yes. I’m staying in one of the condos as a guest of the owner.”

“And you walked over here in this heat? Oh, my.” Chloe’s glance touched Alice’s face, which felt damp.

She fanned herself. “I’m afraid I picked the wrong season to come to Arizona for the first time. I’m not used to the heat.”

“It’s terrible, I know, but never mind. There are ways to work around the temps—morning or evening activities, afternoon siestas to stay out of the monsoons and dust.” Chloe’s good cheer was unwavering, even when delivering that somewhat alarming spiel. “Tomorrow I’ll give you a tour of the resort. We have riding stables, a huge new water park, lovely gardens, a golf course. And, of course, the spa.”

She peered more closely at Alice. “Hmm. I can usually tell just by looking what type of activities a guest will prefer. But with you, I’m not sure. Are you the spa type? Hot stone, shiatsu, mud bath, herbal wrap? Let me know. Appointments have to be booked early, even in the off-season. Spa treatments are popular with our female guests.”

Alice shook her head. She didn’t want massages and facials, fussing and catering.

She wanted adventure.

Excitement.

Maybe romance.

Everything she’d been lacking for the past six years. No, even longer than that, if she was honest. Her life before becoming her mother’s caregiver hadn’t been the most eventful, either. But she’d been satisfied at the time, working as a grade-school teacher in Bangor, Maine, engaged to Stewart McKinney, a wonderful guy who’d been completely understanding when she’d had to move back to Osprey Island because of her mother’s diagnosis. He’d promised to wait for Alice. They’d have the rest of their lives together.

Alice had had total faith in Stewart. Right up till the moment when the proof of his unfaithfulness had been published in the engagement announcements of the Bangor News.

“No spas,” she said to Chloe. She glanced around the lobby, taking in the gleaming Saltillo tiles, the high beamed ceilings and the large wrought-iron chandeliers, hung three in a row to make a major statement. The guests who strolled past looked tanned, pampered and fit, despite their advanced ages. “I want to be active.”

Not passive. Never again passive.

And that was her major statement.

“Great!” Chloe gave a quick clap. “Do you ride? Golf? I’d be happy to arrange an early-morning tee time.”

“I don’t golf.” Alice pictured herself on the greens, a fumbling solo among the holiday-happy twosomes and foursomes. This was her opportunity to change. She’d rather not start out as a lonesome onesome. “But I’d love to try horseback riding. Not just a tame follow-the-leader trail ride, either. Real riding.”

She could begin there and move on to more adventurous activities. Despite her major statement, even an activity as safe and easy as trail riding seemed daunting. She hadn’t been on a four-legged creature since pony rides at the county fair.

“I want to gallop in the desert,” she blurted. And not take a header between her mount’s ears. “I want to…I want to climb and dive and race and…”

She stalled out for a moment before plunging on. “I came here to try everything.”

“With that sense of adventure, you’re certain to have a super stay.” Chloe gave Alice’s arm a small squeeze. “Gosh, you’re my favorite kind of guest. Some of them never want to get up off their biscuits. I spend my time hunting down lost sunglasses and rescheduling pool parties. I’m really going to love planning your days!”

Alice nodded, feeling like an impostor.

But she wasn’t. She’d been wanting this for a long time. She just needed to get used to the reality of her brand-new self.

“I F YOU DON’T get out and live a little, you’ll be a fuddy-duddy at forty.” Leilani Blaylock Jimenez Harrison Steen powered down the computer and slid a few stray folders into a file drawer. Then she locked the drawer and dropped the key into the oversize designer handbag sitting open on one corner of the desk.

“What’s a fuddy-duddy?” teased Kyle Jarreau, who sat on another corner. “Is that something the bobby-soxers used to say?”

Clearly amused, his full-figured secretary wrinkled her nose. “Pet name for my third husband.”

“The one who wore tube socks to bed.”

“Exactamundo.” Lani gave Kyle a measuring look as she ran a comb through her short black curls polished by silver. She pulled a lipstick from her bag. “Bet you I can snare my fifth before you find a first.”

“No way. Do I look like a sucker?” Kyle shifted. The closest he’d come to marriage was standing up at the recent wedding of his best friend, Gavin. The reformed bachelor had returned from his honeymoon with a deep tan and a gloating satisfaction that turned to something like pity whenever Kyle teased him about rushing home to the ball and chain.

“No,” Lani said, growing thoughtful. She blotted her bright red lips on a tissue. “You look like a man so thick he doesn’t even realize he’s lonesome.”

“Thick, huh?” Kyle patted his midsection, kept flat by rigorous workouts in the hotel’s employee gym. He spent too many hours behind his desk not to adhere to a daily exercise regimen.

Lani sighed dramatically. Ever since he’d broken up his last “relationship” without turning a hair, she’d claimed he was a hopeless case. Yet she refused to give up hope. “The operative word was lonesome. ”

“I’m alone, not lonesome.”

“You don’t have to be either. If you’d just accept the birthday party invita—”

“I’m surrounded by people all day, every day,” Kyle countered, even if that proved his thickness. He’d rather play obtuse than get into the same old debate with Lani, including her pushing him to make amends with his family. His secretary thought he needed to get a life. Kyle believed his job was his life.

Lani stood and hefted her bag by its shoulder strap. “If we’re done for the day, I’m outta here, boss. Prospect Number Five is meeting me for drinks in the Manzanita Lounge.” She paused in the office doorway, looking like a puffed-up pigeon teetering forward from her precarious perch on a pair of steep sandals. “You wouldn’t care to join us? Sit and talk to real people face-to-face for a change? You know, the nonemployee kind?”

“No thanks,” Kyle declined without regret. “You’re done for the day. I’m not.”

She clucked. “Ain’t that the truth?” She pointed a plump finger at him. “I’m warning you—fuddy-duddy. Before you’re forty.”

He waved her away, then returned to what Lani forbiddingly termed the inner sanctum, an expansive office that was his home away from home since his promotion to resort manager. In that time he’d overseen the completion of the multimillion-dollar water park, brought in Gavin as one of his assistant managers, set up a new reservations system that would soon be implemented nationwide and seen the resort’s profit margin increase substantially.

True, his personal life had suffered for all the work, including his love life. Everyone had said that Jenna, his last on-again, off-again girlfriend, was perfect for him. Everyone but the two of them, which was why ending it had been so easy.

Kyle sat behind his desk. This was where he belonged. The lack of personal relationships didn’t bother him, despite his secretary’s concern. Especially now that his extreme dedication for the past three years was about to pay off.

Big-time.

For months, the prospect of the impending performance review had been a spur in his side, propelling him forward with single-minded devotion. It was the homestretch now. He couldn’t afford to slow up for a single stride.

He removed his suit jacket and cuff links. He loosened his tie. He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and switched over to voice mail before tossing it aside. The device skidded across the surface and glanced off the single framed photograph on the desk.

Automatically, he reached out to right the photograph of his family—a group of ne’er-do-wells if ever there was one. Its presence on his desk was Lani’s doing, a replacement for Jenna’s head shot. Also an irritating distraction. Abruptly he thrust the photo away, facedown.

A tap of the mouse brought his computer out of sleep mode. He sat and rolled his chair closer to the desk. Time for serious work.

After forty-five minutes studying the monthly reports from his department managers, Kyle stopped to straighten and stretch. He relished these early-evening hours, with his staff gone home and the Prince Montez East Coast management offices shut down. As long as there were no emergency calls from the evening concierge, he could get a lot of work accomplished. Normally he dove into it with gusto, putting in another two hours before his empty stomach forced him into calling room service.

But not this evening. Lani’s words nagged at him.

Fuddy-duddy. Lonesome.

Kyle stood and moved restlessly around the sparsely furnished space before pausing at one of the three tall windows that overlooked the stone courtyard and Moorish fountain at the center of the resort complex. Towering palms lined the long curve of the main road, as well as the various paths leading away from it. In the distance, beyond the foothills, was the humpbacked crest of Camelback Mountain, cast blood orange in the fading sun.

He was unaccountably distracted by the vista. When was the last time he’d noticed a sunset?

He turned suddenly and grabbed the picture off his desk, relocating it to one of the nearly empty shelves in the storage unit along one of the unadorned walls.

Kyle didn’t bother much with the trappings of his position—an expense account, a company car and driver, the large office for work and the luxury suite for sleep. They were valuable only for the air of success they gave him. That, admittedly, he savored.

From the shelf, the faces of his family mocked him. Think you’re a big shot?

“Hell, yeah,” he said softly.

What about us? Didja forget us?

He swung away. Hadn’t he done enough for them? Late-night calls to lawyers, arguments mediated, loans that would never be repaid. Strings pulled, jobs acquired, christenings and bail hearings and holidays attended, each one invariably ending in an argument.

Lani was wrong. He’d put in plenty of face-to-face time. Real people were highly overrated.

There was a staccato rap on the door. Gavin Brill thrust his head inside. “Hey, Jarreau. I’m on my way home.”

“Give my best to the wife.” Kyle’s gut seized. He must be hungry.

“Sorry, man.” Gavin raised his eyebrows. At a scarce five-six, he was eight inches shorter than Kyle, but considered handsome by the women around the office. They swooned over his jet-black hair, blue eyes and Hollywood profile. “I’ll be too busy giving her mine.”

“No one likes a braggart.”

Gavin grinned. “I can’t help it.”

Kyle scowled; this was their act. “How many times did you call her today?”

Gavin had married Melina, one of their former reservation clerks. A cute little brunette who thought he was the sun and the moon and all the stars, too. Her adoration seemed cloying to Kyle, but he gave the couple allowances to be sappy newlyweds. Not that he’d admit it to Gavin.

The man’s grin widened. “Only eight. You owe me twenty.”

“Yeah, but how many times did she call you?”

“That wasn’t part of the bet.”

“A technicality,” Kyle said, but he took out his wallet. “I only have a hundred.”

Gavin gestured with his head. “Walk down with me and we’ll change it at the front desk.”

“You know I’m good for the money.”

“C’mon, bud. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

First a fuddy-duddy and now a stick in the mud?

“I can offer extra incentive,” Gavin said. “Your unexpected arrival will put the fear of authority in the new night concierge. I hear he’s been hell on the staff, trying to prove himself.”

“Sounds like he has the right idea.”

To demonstrate that he wasn’t a fuddy, let alone a duddy, Kyle didn’t bother to roll down his sleeves and put on his jacket. They walked past the elevator to the stairwell and jogged down four flights, neither willing to break the pace.

“Melina says…” Gavin pushed through the staff door that opened onto a hidden corner of the vast lobby. He’d missed more than a few of their workouts lately and was trying not to pant. “Her friends at the desk—”

“Not my concern,” Kyle interrupted so the guy could inhale. Unless the minor problem had potential to grow into a larger issue, he’d learned to let his department managers deal with petty staff complaints. “Remember the chain of command.”

Gavin slid a finger inside his collar. “That’s what I told Melina you’d say, but she…” He shrugged. “She thought you’d care.”

“Care?” The word came out more sharply than Kyle had intended. He didn’t think of himself as uncaring, even when it came to his family. Just strict. With the Jarreaus, fed up.

“I meant, if I brought up the problem on her friends’ behalf,” Gavin explained. “She doesn’t get that you don’t play favorites on the job.”

“The new concierge is only establishing the proper authority over his staff,” Kyle said, but he was uneasy. He had played favorites. Hiring both his foolish sister and his scoundrel younger brother was nepotism at its finest. The family ties he hadn’t been able to completely break.

Except for that small show of weakness, he’d been relentless in his climb up the corporate ladder. He was weeks away from a promotion that was a rare achievement for a man of thirty-six. Why should he have misgivings now?

Because he’d rather be respected by his staff than beloved?

Or was it because Lani had called him lonesome?

Or because Gavin had both a successful career and an adoring wife?

Kyle scanned the luxurious lobby. A reassuring sight. The lights of the stately yet rustic chandeliers cast a glow over ocher stucco walls. Tall palm fronds softened the empty corners. Guests moved about leisurely, most of them on their way to one of the lounges or restaurants. The bustle of white-jacketed employees was constant but discreet, as was the subtle infusion of music from a harpist and piano player on one of the overhanging balconies.

Only one woman seemed out of place—a rather plain brunette, unobtrusive except for a brightly colored outfit that shouted its newness. She was noticeable because she stood alone at the entrance, rubbing her hands on her skirt while she gawked at the teak front desk and the potted orange trees and the skylights that opened the lobby to the lavender-tinged sky.

An employee from the hospitality staff gestured to the solitary woman. They walked to the restaurant entrance, holding an animated conversation as if they were old friends.

Satisfied that his employee was doing her job, Kyle erased the new guest from his mind and went to make change at the desk. He wished that all the day’s distractions were as easily forgotten.

CHAPTER TWO

“I S IT JUST my imagination, or is almost everyone here kind of old?” Alice asked as she and Chloe walked toward the entrance of the restaurant. The hospitality director had explained that while there were several fine dining spots at the resort, the Oasis de la Luna was the best.

“The guests, that is,” Alice corrected herself. “Not the staff.”

Chloe chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. We do cater to an upscale older crowd. Not quite as much during the off-season, however. This is discount time, when we get more families on tight budgets. But there are always plenty of retirees who stick around, too.”

“Especially at the condos.” Alice hesitated. “I noticed when I arrived that the other residents were mostly senior citizens. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. I was just hoping for a diverse crowd.” Pah! She was hoping for young single men.

“Of course you’re right,” Chloe said breezily. “A number of the condos are owned by year-round senior residents. The snowbirds with two homes are the ones who move down in the winter and fly back north for the summer.”

“They seemed friendly.” Except for one old lady who’d been scooting along the sidewalk on a Segway. She’d almost run Alice over.

“Very friendly, some of them. Watch out or they’ll adopt you.”

Alice nodded. While following a porter through the Spanish-style condominium village when she’d first arrived, she’d been waved at and helloed to by the poolside loungers. They’d called her over to join them, but she’d only waved back. After her long trip, she’d been eager to get out of the stifling heat and unpack.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said. “I don’t want to spend my entire vacation playing canasta and taking naps.” She’d had enough experience with that pace of life to keep her until she was eighty.

“The condo gangs seem to be into poker these days. And you might be surprised. Some of them are quite lively.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are. I didn’t mean to stereotype, it’s just that…” Alice broke off; she didn’t want to delve too deeply into her close acquaintance with the gray-haired set on Osprey Island. “I was hoping for more action. My mother and her friends, um…”

They had reached the entrance and were waiting for the maître d’ to return. Chloe looked at Alice. “Yes?”

Emotion had clotted in her throat. “You see, I was caring for my sick mother for a long time, and my life got to revolve around hers. Four months ago, she passed on. So, basically, I’m at loose ends. This trip is a new start for me.”

Chloe was sympathetic. “I hear you. You’re turning a fresh page. You want something different. Not the over-sixties crowd from the condos.”

“Yes,” Alice said gratefully.

“No problem! I’ll see to it that you have an especially exciting stay.” The dimples reappeared in Chloe’s small round face, one high on her cheek, two others framing her rosebud mouth. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas for activities galore.”

“Keep them within reason.” Alice couldn’t prevent a note of caution from creeping into her voice. “I talk a good game, but I’m not sure how daring I’ll actually be.”

“Naturally, the safety and comfort of our guests are our primary concerns,” Chloe said, but then she added, almost to herself, “Hmm, what about Camelback? And rock climbing…”

Oh, dear. “Right now, I’d settle for dinner. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Chloe waved impatiently for the maître d’ while surveying the busy dining room. “I’ll get you a good table. Would you prefer the patio?”

“Anything will do,” Alice said. The clink of silverware, the murmur of conversation and soft harp music were inviting. She watched a handsome, suntanned couple lean close over the flicker of a tea light and wished she wasn’t alone.

Never mind. Make the best of it.

“Even by the kitchen,” she added.

“ Pfft. You deserve better than that.”

I do, Alice silently agreed. She’d spoken out of habit. Like most Osprey Islanders, she was accustomed to humility. Ostentation was not appreciated there.

While Chloe conferred with the maître d’, Alice gazed at the elegant dining room. The rustic stone, wood and stucco of the lobby gave way to a more refined Spanish design with arches, glass lanterns and wrought-iron sconces. White linen and exotic birds of paradise dressed the tables.

Alice smoothed her skirt. It was a style she’d never worn before, striped like a flag in fiesta colors that suddenly seemed too garish and common. When she’d bought it, she’d imagined herself sipping sangria under an umbrella on a sunny patio, not sticking out like a cheap piñata at an exquisite soirée.

“All righty,” Chloe said. “You’ve got a table by the window, but it won’t be ready for another ten or fifteen minutes. I’d love to take you for a drink in the Manzanita Lounge. It’s right through here.”

“You don’t have to stick with me.” Alice lowered her eyes so that the other woman wouldn’t see how much she really didn’t want to be on her own tonight. “I’m sure you have other guests to attend to.”

“I can spare ten minutes.” Chloe looped a hand around Alice’s elbow. “In fact, you’d be doing me a favor. The new night concierge is a taskmaster. I don’t get to mingle with guests very often since he came on the job.”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Alice said with a light laugh that eased the strain in her throat. She wasn’t as prepared for this adventure as she’d have liked.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d have adjusted and would feel more equipped.

They went into the adjacent lounge and sat at the bar to order drinks. The bartender was a good-looking young Mexican whose dark eyes were set off by the high collar of the staff uniform. After serving them with a flourish, he was called away to the other end of the bar.

“Do you know him?” Alice whispered before taking a sip of a prickly-pear-flavored rum punch.

Chloe had settled for the nonalcoholic version. “Ramon? He’s new. Cute, don’t you think?”

“Young.”

“He’s putting himself through college, but he started late. He’s only a year younger than I am.”

“You’re young, too.” This was one of the times that thirty-four and never a bride seemed ancient to Alice. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

“We’ve talked.” Chloe grinned. “And flirted.” She swiveled to gaze longingly down the polished stone bar before swinging her stool back in Alice’s direction. “What about you? No significant other waiting for you at home?”

Alice spun her straw, swirling the ice in her drink. “No one.”

Chloe’s eyes creased. They were tilted up at the corners by the pull of her tightly anchored high ponytail. “Has your heart been broken?”

Alice blinked. Did it still show? She’d been jilted by Stewart almost five years ago.

Five years—wow. She hadn’t added it up lately. She felt as if the breakup had only recently happened. Yet she knew that she’d been lucky to be rid of the faithless man and that there were much deeper losses.

Under normal circumstances, she might have been able to get over Stewart and move on. But romantic options on Osprey were limited. She’d been left with far too many empty hours to brood.

“Water under the bridge,” she said, putting on a nonchalant front. “And way down the river.”

Chloe nodded sagely. “We’ve all watched that stream flow by.”

“Some of us more than others,” said a plump, older woman who was passing by. “My rowboat’s capsized a few times, but I keep on paddling.” She raised her hand, calling out, “Yoo-hoo, cutie!” to a silver-haired man in cowboy boots and a bolo tie before hurrying away.

“That’s Leilani Steen,” Chloe said, “assistant to the boss.”

“The taskmaster?” Alice asked.

“Not my taskmaster. A different one. Actually quite a hot one, if he’d ever loosen his tie and pop off his cuff links.” Chloe spun right around, sitting straighter as she did. “Speak of the devil. There he is now.”

Alice glanced over her shoulder and saw the rowboat woman talking to someone who towered over her, while the woman’s suitor hovered at her elbow. “Which taskmaster?”

“Lani’s boss. Mr. Kyle Jarreau.” Chloe’s tone was filled with admiration. “Manager of the whole PM shebang.”

PM meant Prince Montez, Alice remembered, as a second look had her straightening up right alongside Chloe. There was something about the man who’d just walked into the lounge that made a woman draw a breath all the way to the bottom of her lungs.

Lani and her date had moved on and the “taskmaster” stood alone in the archway between bar and restaurant. Alone but at ease, his presence effortlessly commanding as he surveyed the area.

The air in the room became electric, the employees galvanized. Alice rubbed her palms over the goose bumps on her arms. She swiveled toward the bar. The back of her head and neck tingled as if he’d looked her way.

“Uh-oh,” Chloe said without moving her lips. “He’s seen me.”

Alice exhaled. Not me. Of course, not me. “You’d better go on, then. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

Chloe slid off the stool. “Have a nice dinner.” She laid her hand on Alice’s arm. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow and we’ll plan your schedule.”

Alice watched obliquely as Chloe passed the boss with a nodding bounce of her ponytail and a perky, “Good evening, Mr. Jarreau.”

He returned the nod without smiling.

He was solemn, but young for such a position of authority. Probably no more than forty, tops. Not that Alice knew much about the ins and outs of resort management, her only experience being the cakes she’d delivered to the White Gull Inn from her best friend Susan’s bakery.

She tipped forward and caught the straw between her teeth. The tingles returned, but when she flicked her gaze at Mr. Jarreau, he wasn’t looking her way. She wished he’d move. Go away. Prove that there was no cat-and-mouse awareness except in her overheated imagination.

Suddenly he appeared beside her, leaning past Chloe’s abandoned stool with his hands on the edge of the granite slab of the bar. He pressed forward, flexing tanned forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Busy night, Ramon?”

Loose tie, no cuff links, Alice noted with a shiver. Only a chunky platinum watch around one thick wrist. Chloe had got it wrong.

The bartender smiled, revealing his white teeth. “The usual, sir. The conference attendees drained five gallons of margarita mix in twenty minutes flat. Chef Chavez is causing a ruckus in the kitchens. Can I get you anything, Mr. Jarreau?”

“No.” He pushed away from the bar, ran his dangling tie between two fingers. “Yes. I’ll have a whiskey sour. Light on the whiskey. I have an empty stomach.”

While Ramon busied himself, Jarreau’s glance rested on Alice for a second. She felt overly conscious of her elbows pressed to her ribs and her tongue against her teeth.

I’m nothing to him. Just another guest. One face among hundreds.

The thought rankled her. Why was she so dismissive of herself? Had her status as everybody’s helpmate become that ingrained?

“It’s a beautiful hotel,” she said. Her voice seemed too eager, too bright, if only to herself. “That is, from what I’ve seen so far. I just arrived a few hours ago. Chloe Weston was showing me around.” Now I’m talking too much. “She was very kind and welcoming. A real credit to the resort.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Jarreau took his drink from the bartender, and Alice didn’t know which of them he was addressing until he raised his glass to her. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” Deep breath. “I’m Alice Potter. From Osprey Island, Maine.”

“Kyle Jarreau. Pleased to meet you.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. She felt compelled to fill it. “I know what you’re thinking.” She was plucking words from the whirl of her brain. “Alice Potter is such a nursery rhyme kind of name.”

“Huh,” he said, half a chuckle.

The maître d’had appeared at her other elbow. “Your table is ready, Miss Potter.”

She shot an amused glance at Mr. Jarreau as she disembarked. “You see what I mean?”

His mouth moved without quite reaching a smile. “Good evening.” One eyebrow tilted. “Miss Potter.”

Alice laughed and walked away. The swish of her full skirt no longer felt gaudy. It was festive.

K YLE STAYED at the bar in the Manzanita Lounge, ordering a turkey club sandwich from the grill. He chatted with Ramon about hoops and colleges and then college hoops during the bartender’s few quiet moments. That’d show Lani, he thought to himself at one point, even though the gibe felt immature when she was only thinking of his goodwill. His own mother had never been the type to monitor his social progress. She’d rarely even remembered to tell him to eat his vegetables.

From his position, he could see into the neighboring restaurant. At a distant table, a small one tucked in a corner beside a window, sat Miss Potter. Solo. His eyes returned to her again and again throughout the hour, watching as she alternately stared dreamily out the window and scribbled in a small notebook she set aside only when her dinner was served.

Alice Potter of Osprey Island, Maine. She was nothing extraordinary. Mild, affable, a little awkward. And yet something about her had engaged his interest.

Her gentle brown eyes…her tremulous attempt at witty conversation?

He considered, watching a smile light her face when a waiter arrived with her dessert, a miniature tower of cake drizzled with fruit and chocolate sauce. She studied the plate for a moment, then picked up a fork, pausing only to look around the room with an expectant smile that went unreturned. Her pleasure dimmed as she focused on the dessert.

Kyle gritted his teeth. Perhaps it was her loneliness that drew him.

He glanced away, fully aware that his continuing presence had put the lounge employees on edge. They hurried back and forth, giving their patrons one level above the usual top-notch service. None had taken a break to dally at the bar and shoot the breeze with Ramon the way they usually might.

They would be dying for Kyle to leave already. Not a single one of them would believe that the pressure on him to deliver far outweighed theirs. Some days—and some solitary middle-of-the-nights—he felt as though an elephant sat on his chest.

He lifted a finger to the bartender, who reacted instantly. The attentiveness meant everything to Kyle. He had command. He’d instilled in the staff a discipline that matched his own. Those things were more important than fleeting gratification or needy personal relationships that only caused trouble.

Ramon parked his fists on his hips. “Can I get you another, boss?”

The plate from Kyle’s meal had been removed, but a small pool of alcohol remained in his glass. “No, thanks. One’s my limit.” He crooked a finger. “Tell me…”

The bartender leaned in.

“When I leave, will the entire staff go on break at once?”

After a startled moment, Ramon smiled. “They’ll wait five minutes to be sure you’re gone.”

Kyle nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He pushed aside a crumpled cocktail napkin, dropped his feet to the floor. “Prepare for the mass exodus.”

He stood and turned, catching sight of Alice Potter again. A waiter was taking away her dessert plate. She glanced at the other diners, catching her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I changed my mind,” he said to the young bartender. “Give me two glasses of champagne, please.”

“Right away.”

Kyle saw that all charges were added to his account, along with a hefty tip for Ramon, then carried the fine crystal into the restaurant. It had begun to empty out, but a number of patrons lingered over drinks to enjoy the Old World atmosphere.

Alice Potter was leaning forward on stiff arms as she gazed out the window at the twinkle of the patio lights and the dark sky beyond. She looked up with surprise when Kyle set the champagne flute in front of her.

“Miss Potter,” he said. “Your first night here deserves to be toasted with champagne. May I join you?”

Her fingers fluttered to her hair, worn shoulder-length in a rather shapeless brown bob. “Of course. But could we go outside to the patio? I was just thinking that I’d like to sit under the stars.”

He picked up the flutes. “Lead the way.”

She rose, hesitant as she reached for her handbag. “I haven’t paid the—”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Oh. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She seemed uncertain about accepting. “I suppose you can do that, charge it to the house, when you are the house.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. So she knew who he was. “Although I’m not really the house. Merely the overseer.” He caught the handle of the patio door with two fingers just as she reached for it, too. Their fingertips pressed.

She yanked her hand away. A waiter stepped in, holding the door open and smoothly relieving Kyle of the glasses.

There was an open table at the periphery, where sage and lavender swayed in the breeze. Kyle held out a chair for Alice.

She glanced at him with a shy smile as he seated himself. “You’re so mannerly.”

“I learned to be,” he admitted. “That’s not how I grew up.”

“Oh?”

He shrugged off her questioning look, not willing to go there. “You’re a long way from home.”

She sipped her champagne, quite the lady herself. “That’s the idea.” She turned her head toward the cooling breeze rolling in off the mountains. “I wanted to be as far away as I could manage. In an unfamiliar place.”

“You’ve never been to the Southwest before?”

“Not since a high-school class trip to Mazatlán. I haven’t been very adventurous. But I’m going to make up for that.” She made a face, and he liked her wry honesty, even the humility.

“During dinner,” she continued, “I was working on a list.”

His interest deepened. “May I see it?”

“Oh, no, it’s embarrassing.”

“Come on,” he coaxed.

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes large and velvety dark, dominating her oval face. She was almost pretty. “It’s nothing. Only a standard list of things to do and places to go while I’m here.”

“Then it can’t be embarrassing.”

“That depends. You don’t think it’s embarrassing for a thirty-four-year-old woman to admit that she has about as much experience as a potted plant?”

Kyle grinned. “I doubt that’s true.”

She returned the grin, erasing every trace of exhaustion and sadness from her expression. “Nearly.”

He wanted to touch her. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and folded his hands against his chin, holding her gaze while he dug a thumbnail into his bottom lip. “Read me something off the list.”

After a moment, she looked away, blushing even more. “I’ll find an innocuous item.” She pulled the pocket notebook from her bag and flipped the pages where her scrawled handwriting looped.

She saw him peeking and shielded the list from view. She cleared her throat. “Here’s one—see a rattlesnake.”

He raised his eyebrows. “At least you don’t want to pet it.”

“It’s silly, I know. But I’ve never seen a rattlesnake. We don’t have them in Maine.”

“What else is on the list?”

“Get a picture taken with a saguaro cactus,” she read. “That’s not very exciting, is it?”

“Don’t pet the cactus, either.”

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed and she took another drink of champagne. Pages turned. “Hmm.” Her smile was almost flirtatious. “I can cross off this one.” She searched in her purse for a pen.

“What is it?”

She clicked the pen. “Drinks on the patio with a handsome stranger.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, really. See?” She held up the book, showing him the line she’d drawn through number fourteen.

“I was number fourteen?”

“Well after the rattlesnake.” Her eyes met his. “I was working up to the really good ones.”

Warmth seeped into his face. He was glad he’d already loosened his tie. “What’s number fifteen? Maybe we can knock that one off, too.”

She turned the page. “Meet a cowboy.”

Kyle frowned. “Your fantasies aren’t very evolved.”

“That kinda feels like an insult, but I know what you mean.” She laughed. “I suppose I’m a slow starter. Except, well, they’re not fantasies, are they? Fantasies are…”

“Kiss a cowboy?” he suggested, knowing he shouldn’t. Her face turned even redder and she thrust the notebook back into her purse. He’d thought a drink with Alice Potter would be harmless, a mild conversation about resort amenities and the weather forecast. He’d thought he was doing it to make her feel better.

Not to make himself feel human.

Human? Try feeling like a man.

She was not a stunner, not sophisticated or smooth. Nothing like Jenna. But she was clever and gentle. She brought out his protective instincts.

“Why did you come here?” he asked. “This resort, specifically.”

She was concentrating on her champagne, taking tiny sip after tiny sip. “Is this a customer survey?”

“Curiosity. You’re different from our usual guest.”

Her head came up. “Meaning I’m not seventy years old and wealthy?”

“And you’re…single. We’re not known as a singles resort, even though I’ve tried to expand our market.” He was striving to sound professional, which had never been a problem before.

“It’s not a spectacular story,” Alice said. “I just needed to get away from home. One day I was surfing the Internet, looking for interesting places I’d never been to, when I landed on a site that specializes in vacation-home exchanges. Long story short, I swapped two weeks with a condo owner. He’s staying at my cottage in Maine.” She toyed with the stem of her glass, her head bent to one side so her neck was exposed.

Kyle’s eyes lingered. “I see. So you’re in one of the condos.” Master of stating the obvious.

No wonder she’d made the seventy-year-old comment. The Prince Montez chain had plunged into the thriving vacation-condo market as an adjunct to their luxury resort hotels. While the condos were technically under Kyle’s command, that wasn’t an area where he needed to spend a lot of his time. Other than the occasional turnover of ownership or HOA—Home Owner’s Association—tussle, their management was a matter of maintaining the status quo.

“I don’t get over to the condos very often,” he said.

That meant he wasn’t likely to come across Alice after tonight. Probably a good thing. One “welcome” drink was fine, but he couldn’t afford to give her the idea that he was interested in her. The PM policy against fraternization between guests and employees was strictly enforced—by him. Although romantic relationships among employees was also frowned on, they happened more frequently than he would have preferred. Take Gavin, for example.

“I’m kept busy here,” he added, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to Alice, except that she looked almost forlorn. A fringe of overly long bangs had fallen across her forehead, into her eyes.

“Yes.” She studied her fingers, caged around the glass.

Kyle clenched his jaw. He had fired two employees for fraternization. One a guy who’d played cabana boy a little too well, following up on the offers of flirtatious female guests, even after several warnings. The other had been an office worker, though fraternization had been the least of her crimes. She’d also been more than an employee to Kyle. His sister, in fact. Making her flouting of the rules a most uncomfortable situation.

But he’d done what he had to do. And he would do it again, even if that meant letting down sweet Alice Potter with her nursery rhyme name and her large dark eyes that held so much expectation and hope.

His fault, damn it. She’d have had no hopes if he hadn’t already stepped over the line.

“Thank you for sharing my company,” he said, rising to his feet. For making me number fourteen. “I enjoyed it.”

She looked up at him, blinking, then brushed her hair aside. “I did, too,” she said softly.

“Please let…let the staff know if you need anything at all during your stay with us.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like an escort back to the condo? We have carts available, or—”

“No, thank you. Now that it’s cooled off, I’ll enjoy the walk. The grounds are so beautiful.” She turned her face away, lifting it again to the balmy breeze. His gaze followed hers across the manicured vista, where guests strolled by twos and threes. Farther off, snatches of music played intermittently as the more garrulous groups entered the adjacent nightclub. “I’d like to stay here for a while longer.”

Kyle hesitated, but there seemed nothing left to say. He could not ask her to go dancing. “Good evening, then, Miss Potter.”

Her lips parted. “Good evening, Mr. Jarreau.” She did not meet his eyes.

T HE LONESOME ONESOME , Alice thought with derision as she accepted a second glass of champagne from the attentive waiter, even though one was enough to make her tipsy.

She supposed she qualified as a VIP now that she’d been noticed by the head honcho, but she couldn’t enjoy the moment of glory, such as it was. She’d rather have stayed anonymous than be given a taste of what it felt like to be admired and even flirted with before the attention was taken away again.

But that was the old Alice talking.

The new Alice should have been bolder. Made herself too enticing to resist. Somehow.

Her interlude with Kyle Jarreau was likely the only holiday flirtation she’d get. She would savor it when she was home.

Home alone.

No, focus on Kyle. The way he held himself, for instance—erect and almost regal, evoking formality even with his button-down shirt undone at the cuffs and collar. His posture was so perfect that she’d reminded herself several times to sit up, lift her head high to meet his gaze.

His hair, for another. Short and thick, deep walnut brown and tipped with the slightest touch of honey. His eyes had been almost the same shade. Serious eyes, even when he’d teased her about the list.

She closed her own eyes now, remembering his strong hands, the quick grin, the hint of stubble on his firm jaw, the masculine fuzz on his tanned forearms.

The moment at the door when their fingers had touched.

She’d felt a blazingly intense awareness—of his skin, the heat of him, the solid muscle and discipline and careful control.

Alice pressed her fingertips together hard enough to hurt. She released them and let her hands fall to her lap, curled like limp macaroni as she looked up at the stars and sighed. No sense wishing on them anymore. She’d asked for a handsome stranger and she’d been given one.

Oh, yes. Kyle Jarreau had fulfilled the requirements very well.

Perhaps too well, considering that, despite their apparent connection, he’d seemed determined to remain a stranger.

Prince Montez Oasis Resort, Phoenix, Arizona—the jewel of the Sonoran desert.

July 21

Dear Mom,

I’m not going to actually mail this postcard, but it makes a funny kind of sense that the first one I write should be to you. You’re the one who encouraged me to take this trip, in so many more ways than just $$. So I’m here, and I’m going to do you proud. I’ve already begun—and how!—but I’ll send that postcard to Sue. I’m writing to you, Mom, to say thanks for the inspiration.

Love,

Alice

CHAPTER THREE

A LICE AWOKE EARLY the next morning and got into the shower, emerging revived and ready to take on every activity the resort offered. The list she’d written had proved how much of her life she’d let slip away the past six years on Osprey Island.

She would never, absolutely never, regret being there for her mother as the initial occurrence of breast cancer had returned, then spread. Family was family. But Alice also recognized that the cost to herself had been high. At a time when many others her age were settled with jobs, marriage, kids, she had nothing but a one-half share in a run-down little cottage and a spotty job history of temporary positions. Nursemaid, gardener, part-time baker, fill-in babysitter, substitute teacher.

She had a substitute life.

But no more! Alice brushed her teeth and pulled a comb through her wet hair, wrinkling her nose at the mirror. She’d made promises to herself.

She dropped her damp towel and got into the thick terry robe with the PM crest on the lapel. It was good to feel pampered.

She strolled into the living room, captivated anew by the exotic surroundings. Last night, she’d pulled the louvered wood shutters across the windows and sliding glass doors. Now the early-morning sunshine had reached past the dusty red foothills that bordered the resort complex to stripe the floor with light. She curled her bare toes into the heat. All around her was adobe and slate, brushed steel, ebony wood and Sinatra-era furnishings with low, straight lines. So different from the dumpy, flowery pieces and peeling paint at the cottage back home.

Everything’s different now. I’m a woman on the verge of a whole new life.

The doorbell chimed.

“Cripes,” she said, touching her hair, pulling at the neckline of the robe. She didn’t know anyone here, except…

Maybe it was Chloe.

The bell chimed again, and she hurried to open the door.

“Welcome to Wrinkle Resort!” Five seniors—three women and two men—crowded close, each as tanned as Kraft paper.

“She’s a youngster,” said a large, sharp-eyed man. He wore a black toupee above thick gray sideburns and matching gnarly eyebrows.

“Myrna saw you arrive,” announced one of the women as she pushed herself into the room. The others followed when Alice politely stepped aside. “And so did the Pool Sharks.”

“But we were taking our siestas.”

“Late afternoon, until the sun drops.”

“Most everyone does.”

“Except the Pool Sharks, led by Arthur Banyon. He’s a lizard. He basks in the sun.”

The man in a Panama hat snorted. “Sure, but he’s seventy and he’d pass for a hundred.”

“She doesn’t care about Arthur,” said a second woman, who was small but forceful, in a T-shirt that advertised Cuervo Gold.

Alice was amused. The older women on Osprey Island didn’t wear tequila shirts. Maybe Joe D’s Crab Shack, if they were characters.

The woman eyed Alice blatantly. “Where ya from, honey?”

She clutched the lapel of the white robe. “Maine.”

“Maine!” The answer set off a buzz. “All that way.”

“Are you related to the Raffertys?” one of them asked. “What happened to the Raffertys?”

The first man gestured for silence. “Introductions first.” He pumped Alice’s hand. “This gang here is known as the Cocktail Shakers, rivals to the Sharks. I’m Walter St. Gregory. This is my wife, Mags.” The woman with the Lucille Ball curls. “Forgive us for barging in so early. We should have waited, but the gals were impatient.”

Mags nodded. “We were expecting the Raffertys.”

“Sorry. It’s just me.” Through the Holidays Away agency, Alice had swapped vacation homes with a man named Sean Rafferty, who was a state trooper from Massachusetts. He’d written in one of his e-mails that the condo belonged to his retired parents, who used it for vacations. “I don’t actually know the Raffertys. I’m staying here on a house swap.”

The group was taken aback. “A swap! My goodness,” Mags said.

“I’ve heard of them,” said the woman in the tequila shirt. She pursed her lips, which made her narrow face look even narrower. “Then where are the Raffertys?”

“At my house. On Osprey Island. But it’s not the Raffertys, it’s only their son.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Raffertys. They always have their grandson from California come to visit while he’s on summer vacation. What did you say your name was?”

“Alice Potter. The, um, Prince Montez management is fully informed. I have the keys and a letter of agreement.”

The third woman patted Alice’s arm. “I’m Mary Grace Malone. Alice is such a sweet, old-fashioned name and I can see it fits you. Don’t mind Harrie. She was a private investigator for thirty-eight years. Nothing happens in the resort without her getting the details.”

Harrie winked. “Harriet Humbert, at your service. If you need a clue.”

Alice laughed. “I…well, I probably do.”

“You’ll learn your way around soon enough,” she sympathized.

“What did you call this place?” Alice asked. “Some nickname?”

“Wrinkle Resort,” said Walter, spreading expansive hands to encompass his elderly cohorts. “You can see why.”

Alice gulped. The median age was as she’d suspected. “Are there any younger people around?”

“Sure, up at the hotel,” Harrie said. She wiggled her narrow hips. “Every night, at the club and the bars.”

Walter scowled. “We get a bunch of families, too, especially with the new water park. Hellions, most of ’em. Between them and the Pool Sharks, you’ll want to avoid the pools in the peak hours.”

“Oh,” Alice said.

“Look at her.” Mags pinched Alice’s cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s plenty going on for the young singles, too. Anytime you want, get yourself all gussied up and Wally will drive you up to the disco in his golf cart.”

Alice imagined making an entrance on the arm of the large and blustery Walter. “We’ll have to do that one of these nights.” She smiled and crossed her fingers inside the robe’s deep pockets. “But for now, I’ve got a busy day planned.” Potentially.

“Then we’ll leave you to get dressed.” Mary Grace moved toward the door. The others reluctantly followed.

“Just remember,” Walter said, “you’re welcome to join the Cocktail Shakers anytime.”

“We’re the fun bunch,” Harrie put in. “Always a good time.”

“Tonight’s Margarita Madness,” crowed the Panama hat man, using a bad Latin accent. “Five o’clock, under the umbrellas by the pool. We’re clearing out the Sharks if we have to attack with water guns.”

Walter backed out, hands cupped around an invisible martini shaker at shoulder level. He gave it a vigorous shake. “We do a different cocktail every evening. You’d be a fine addition to our merry band, Miss Potter.”

Alice nodded. “Thanks, Mr. St. Gregory. I appreciate the invitation. I promise to stop by eventually. I’m here for two weeks.”

“Call us Wally and Mags.”

“Reg and M.G.,” called Panama hat from the breezeway, his arm around Mary Grace.

“And don’t forget Harrie!”

“As if I could.” Alice laughed and waved and shut the door. She stared wide-eyed at the empty room before letting out her breath.

Okay, so maybe there wouldn’t be a lot of glamour and adventure to her vacation. Maybe, even after all her resolutions, she’d end up doing crossword puzzles and drinking strange cocktails by the pool. She was still determined to enjoy herself.

Don’t surrender yet. According to the brochures, the resort offered horseback riding, off-road biking and hiking, desert-jeep tours. Even skydiving.

Staying on the ground seemed like a good idea for now. She’d already made one big leap of faith.

“H OWDY, THERE , ma’am. Now ain’t yew a fine filly?” The stablehand pushed a battered straw Stetson to the back of his head. “Y’lookin’ for a bronc?”

Number fifteen. Alice ran her palms down her jeans before extending a hand. Meet a cowboy. At this rate, she’d have to come up with a new list before the first week was out.

“I’m Alice Potter. Chloe sent me.”

“You mean that sweet li’l gal with the blond ponytail?” Plastering a wide grin across his tanned face, the man shook her hand. He was straight from central casting: handsome weathered face, golden-brown lock tumbled across his forehead, clear green eyes, shoulders as broad as his cowpoke accent. A white tank and low-riding jeans clung to his lean hard body. His boots were pointy-toed and emerald green. Bought to match his eyes, she’d just bet.

Alice nodded. “Chloe said you would set me up with a lesson or two. I’ve already signed on for a trail ride, but I’d like to learn a few techniques first so I know what I’m doing. I’m a beginner.”

The cowboy slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her an encouraging hug. “Don’tcha worry none, li’l lady. I’ll have you gallopin’ ’cross the desert in two shakes of a rattler’s tail.”

That startled her—how did he know she dreamed of galloping across the desert? Did everyone have the same secret desire? She tried to squirm away. The cowboy smelled of leather, cologne and pungent sweat. The proximity of so much male made her stomach swirl. She stepped out from under his arm and looked into a stall, pretending an interest in the four-legged occupant. The stable was quiet and dark. At the other end of the building, a lone female stablehand shoveled out one of the stalls, pitching forkfuls into a wheelbarrow.

“That there bay’s name is Loco,” said the cowboy. “Y’think you’d like to climb aboard?”

An extremely large brown horse stuck its black nose against the upper rails of the stall, nostrils flaring as he snorted the way Alice imagined a charging bull might. “Heck, no.”

The cowboy slid open the stall door. The horse swung around to greet him, its long black tail swishing across its hocks. “Pay the name no mind, ma’am. This old fella’s gentle as a lamb.”

She stayed far back as he led the horse out into the aisle. “What about you? Have you got a name?”

“Y’can call me Denver,” he said, nodding and grinning. His eyes swept her up and down with obvious approval. “If I can call yew Allie.”

Denver the cowboy. Perfect.

A little too perfect. Especially the lingo. She supposed he’d been hired to give the guests a show.

“My name’s Alice,” she said, thinking he’d misheard.

“Maybe so, but yew look like an Allie. Y’know—all cute ’n sassy.”

“Me?” Her hair was caught up in a clip and she’d knotted her sleeveless checked blouse at the waist. Did that qualify as sassy? Or was her new attitude showing already?

After the Cocktail Shakers had gone, Chloe had phoned with suggestions for the day—a riding lesson this morning and a trip to the wave pool in the afternoon. What she’d called an easy start had seemed plenty adventurous to Alice, particularly now that she was face-to-face with a cowboy and a horse. She wasn’t afraid of horses. Or cowboys. She just had a healthy caution about riding—or kissing—either one.

That darn Kyle Jarreau. He’d put the notion in her head.

Denver hooked a rope to the horse’s halter and handed the end of it to Alice. “By gosh, you’re cute as a pigtailed pup when you’re blushin’.”

He flirts with every woman. Alice was certain of that, but she was flattered all the same. Back home on the island, she knew everyone as well as they knew her. Flirting with Keith at the inn or Bill the kayak guy would be like flirting with a cousin.

Standing at the end of the horse’s lead, she looked sidelong at Denver. Her lips curved invitingly. “I’ll bet you make all the women blush.”

With an unabashed wink that did nothing to deny her claim, he tossed a saddle blanket over the horse’s back. His lashes were as thick as a girl’s.

So were the horse’s, fringing large brown eyes that watched her with interest. Alice swallowed and stepped closer to the animal, determined to make a friendly overture there, too. “Nice horse.”

She extended her hand. Loco thrust his nose at her. She flinched before realizing that the horse’s muzzle was soft and velvety beneath the bristle of whiskers. He didn’t chomp at her fingers, but moved supple, leathery lips against her palm.

Denver took her hand and pressed something into it. “Old Loc’s looking for a treat. Hold your fingers out straight.”

Slices of carrot. The horse gently lipped them up, crunching greedily. He returned to her palm, nostrils fluttering, the nibbling lips smearing her with spittle.

She giggled. “That’s ticklish.”

Denver clasped her hand for a moment before releasing it. He gave the horse’s neck an affectionate slap. “Loc’s a good beginner’s horse. He’ll take care of you just fine.”

What about you? she wondered as she rubbed her palm on her jeans. The way he’d touched her had made her ticklish inside, too, even when she reminded herself that she shouldn’t take the cowboy seriously.

She stroked Loco’s nose. He butted her, scraping her chin with his bony head. Ouch. She pushed him away, her fingers tightening on the rope as the horse threw his head high.

“Steady, boy.” Denver lifted a saddle onto Loco’s back, then reached beneath the horse to snag the dangling cinch. The motion rippled impressive muscles beneath the clinging tank. In the still heavy heat of the stable, his skin glistened with perspiration.

Alice’s mouth felt like cotton. “Are you a real cowboy?”

He straightened. “Worried ’bout how I’ll handle your lesson, Allie?” He doffed his hat and raked a hand through his burnished blond hair, studying her.

“I, uh, I’ve never ridden before.”

“No need to fret. Most of our guests are greenhorns. Trail ridin’s no challenge at all. You’ll do as well as any of ’em once I teach yew the basics.”

Oh, boy. She gulped, distracted from the fact that he hadn’t answered her question. Maybe she didn’t care whether he was genuine.

Denver hung his hat on the saddle horn and finished the tacking up, going off on a rambling, colorful story about riding broncs on the rodeo circuit and winning the silver buckle prominently centered on his tooled leather belt. Alice’s eyes dropped to the bulge below it, then darted away. Smirking, he picked up the reins and matter-of-factly took Alice’s hand in his, leading both her and the horse outdoors into the glaring midmorning heat.

The riding ring was empty. A couple of horses occupied a nearby corral, dozing in the shade of a stand of cottonwood trees. Denver told her that the rest of them had gone out on the early trail ride.

“Let’s get you mounted up.” His accent seemed to come and go. He retrieved his hat and set it on his head, tugging the brim low with a devilish, one-sided grin. “I’ll turn you into an easy rider in no time.”

Alice shuffled in the dirt. Loco seemed enormous to her again, the saddle perched high on his back. She looked uncertainly at the stirrup.

“Y’want a leg up?”

She didn’t know why she was hesitating. Riding a horse was nothing to be timid about. Rock climbing or skydiving, yes, but this was a small start. “I want to try it myself.”

Denver guided her hands to the saddle, then held the stirrup for her. “Go ’head. Stick a foot in here, take a bounce on the ball of your other foot and up you’ll go. Easy as pie.”

She was less than elegant, but she managed to haul herself into the saddle. “Yawp,” she croaked from atop her perch, hastily sticking her right foot into the stirrup. The ground was a long way down. “What do I do now?”

“Grab the reins. Leave some slack. You don’t want to be jabbing Loco’s mouth.”

The leather reins slithered in her damp hands. The horse’s ears flicked back and forth, but he didn’t move. “Now what?”

“Y’feelin’ okay in the saddle? Got a good grip with your thighs?” Denver’s eyes glinted from beneath the hat brim.

Sweat trickled along her hairline. “I think so.”

“Then go ahead and squeeze him with your heels.”

She prodded the horse. Loco twitched a shoulder and swished his tail, his head hung so low she wondered if he was taking a nap.

Denver chuckled. “Try again.”

She dug her heels in. The horse turned his head and rolled an eye at her before lazily picking up his hooves to walk toward the opposite side of the corral. At first, Alice felt a bit queasy at seeing the ground moving beneath her. When she looked up and realized that they were traveling at no more than an amble, she began to relax.

“Follow the rail.” Denver stood in the center of the ring with one hip cocked and his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Get used to his rhythm.”

Trying not to apply a double entendre to the words, she concentrated on the creak of the saddle and the bobbing comfort of Loco’s head.

They completed one circuit of the ring without disaster. That small achievement seemed significant.

She was doing it. She was riding.

No need to get excited yet. Even the rankest amateur could sit on a horse for a walk.

She wriggled in the saddle, getting more comfortable. Loco felt steady and reliable beneath her, despite his name. She was able to take a look around at the lush green grounds of the resort. Desert stretched way in the distance, sere, brown and strewn with cactus and rock formations. Tomorrow, she’d ride into it, as bold as you please.

When she closed her eyes, she could almost see herself, mounted on Loco, no longer timid or awkward. There was a man riding beside her, sitting tall on a flashy black stallion, silhouetted against the backdrop of the setting sun.

But who was he?

Denver, Alice decided. She inserted his green eyes and easy grin into the picture, but before long the glib cowboy’s face transformed into the serious features of Kyle Jarreau.

She shook her head. That wouldn’t do.

“Give him a kick with your heels,” Denver called. “Get him trottin’.”

She settled down to learning to ride. A quick hard squeeze earned Loco’s attention. His ears flattened, but he set off at a trot, bouncing Alice up and down in the saddle. She grabbed the saddle horn, not caring that the move branded her as a tenderfoot. She was a tenderfoot.

Loco jogged along the rail. Alice’s rein hand jerked in time with the rest of her. She felt as if she was sitting on a jackhammer. “I—I—I’m g-gonna fall!”

Denver only chuckled. “You’re too tense. Loosen up. Go with him.”

I’m going whether I want to or not, she thought, but she tried to relax her rigid spine while still keeping her legs clamped to the saddle. The trot became easier to handle. More of an eggbeater than a jackhammer.

“Now let go of the horn,” Denver instructed.

Let go? Was he crazy? But she eased her grip. Thank God Loco was well trained, continuing to jog in a wide circle regardless of his precarious rider.

“Heels down. Settle yourself low in the saddle.”

Alice swallowed. Sweat poured off her. She was developing a stitch in her side from the relentless jostling. But she also felt a flicker of triumph. Horseback riding wasn’t so difficult, after all. Maybe she could meet other challenges, too.

“There y’go!” Denver crowed. “Settin’ mighty pretty.”

She lifted her chin to toss a smile at him. The second her gaze came unglued from Loco, so did her seat.

She fell so fast, she didn’t have a chance to save herself. She found herself sitting in the dirt, not sure how she’d got there, except that her tailbone said it hadn’t been a gentle trip. Loco had come to a halt in the corner of the riding ring, his reins trailing in the dirt.

Denver knelt beside her. “You okay, Allie?”

“I’m okay.” Her jaw ached where her teeth had jarred together. “What happened?”

“Loc put a little giddyup in his stride and you came a-cropper.”

“Oh. I fell off?” Apparently her brains had also been jarred. She spit grit out of her mouth. “I fell off while trotting? This is so embarrassing.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” Denver gave her a hand up. “It happens to everyone.”

“Even you?”

“Why, sure.” He smiled. “More times’n I can count.”

Alice wiped her face with the back of a wrist. She wished again she had a handkerchief. Why did no one carry handkerchiefs anymore? If Denver was truly the total package, he’d have been handy with a bandanna.

“Well,” she said, “at least I didn’t hurt anything but my pride.”

Denver chirruped to Loco. “You game to climb back aboard?”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s for the best. Y’can’t let fear set in.” He caught the reins and led Loco toward her. “Shoot, Allie. I was once thrown hard by a mean ol’ bronc name of Twister. Soon’s my collarbone healed, I was back on board spurrin’ the demon out of that stud. Won me a big old purse in the bargain.”

“I could use a new handbag,” she said, and Denver laughed, a deep guffaw that sounded more natural than anything that had come out of his mouth till then.

His eyes fixed on hers and she felt an odd familiarity in his steady gaze. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

She smiled bashfully and took hold of the stirrup.

“Hold on.” He reached behind her and batted at her derriere, releasing a cloud of dust. Heat shot through her when his hand lingered, only for a moment, but long enough to turn her insides molten. “Can’t have you ridin’ dirty,” he said in a low voice. She shivered, despite the fever he’d created. “Not a sweet li’l thang like you.”

She bolted onto the horse, mounting with little grace but plenty of speed.

“Eager, ain’t cha?” Humor tilted Denver’s mouth. He swatted the horse’s back end. “Get on, then, Loc. Give our gal a nice smooth ride.”

The horse moved off. The cowboy walked in the other direction, talking to himself, though Alice heard every word. “I always did say it’s the quiet ones that surprise a man with their enthusiasm, once they get a taste for it.”

A TASTE . D ENVER’S words had stayed with Alice throughout the day, from her wobbly dismount off Loco after a jittery lope around the ring to her first experiment with a boogie board at the wave pool. She’d lived by the ocean her entire life, but the water in Maine was too cold for swimming or surfing. She’d never gained a toehold in the marina crowd, either, with their fancy sailboats and yachts. Dinghies had been her speed.

I want more than a taste. She dug her spoon into a sweet cloud of meringue. I want a full-course meal.

“That looks good.” Chloe pulled out a chair and sat opposite Alice. “Hiya. I see you worked up an appetite.”

Alice waved her spoon hello. She hadn’t felt like getting dressed up, so she’d chosen to dine in the less formal Blue Sage Bistro. “Everything is so good here. I’ve decided I’m going to work my way through the entire menu, including desserts.”

“Why not?” Chloe held up a file folder. “With all the activities I have planned for you, you’ll burn off every one of the calories.”

“I may resist the mesquite-smoked rattlesnake until the last night, then,” Alice admitted.

Chloe laughed. “How did you like the wave pool?”

“It was a challenge. I didn’t expect the waves to be so strong. Like a real surf.” Alice squirmed, aware of the aches and pains she’d accumulated in just one day. The wave machine had flipped her head over heels several times, until one of the lifeguards had shown her how to coast and paddle on the boogie board. “I’m not very athletic. I got knocked around some.”

“But it was fun, wasn’t it?” Chloe didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you ready for more?”

Alice licked raspberry purée from the corner of her mouth. “Bring it on.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Chloe consulted the folder. “What do you say to a hike up Camelback Mountain? There’s a group leaving tomorrow morning at six.”

“That early?”

“You know what they say. Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun.” The sally seemed forced, as if Chloe had used it many times before. She wrinkled her nose. “Okay. The truth is, we have to make adjustments for the summer months. It’s our off-season and we’re at lower capacity. Most of the guests only want to hang out at the water park.” She smiled again. “You’re really livening up my day.”

Alice took a breath. “All right. I’m game. But I also wouldn’t say no if you scheduled me a few siestas.”

Chloe dashed off a note. “I’ll leave you plenty of downtime. Now, what about cycling? Do you know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes.” Alice was relieved that for once she could answer in the affirmative. Bicycles were popular on the island, which was small enough that cars were more of an encumbrance than a convenience. She pedaled the same Schwinn she’d had since she was fourteen, complete with a wicker basket for toting home groceries and buckets of clams.

“Then I’ll sign you up for mountain biking. I’ve gone myself, and it’s a super experience, just super. But remember to stick to the marked paths or you might find yourself skidding down a mountainside. The sandstone can be kind of slick.”

Alice hadn’t counted on biking being an adventure sport. “That sounds fine,” she said slowly, “but is there anything I can try that doesn’t risk broken bones?”

Chloe considered her lists. “There’s trail riding. The horses are very tame. How did your lesson with Denver go?”

“Denver,” Alice said. “Wow.”

“I know.” Chloe giggled like the girlfriend she was rapidly becoming. “Isn’t he a hoot?”

“He’s a hoot,” Alice agreed. “Except I was thinking more about his…um…”

“Good jeans?”

“Yeah.” Alice’s eyes went to the wide rattan paddles of the fan circulating above the table. The ceiling was painted a cool green-blue. “They were very nice jeans.”

“Tight,” Chloe said with admiration.

“Is he single?” The question was bold for Alice. She wasn’t usually open about being interested in a man.

Chloe’s response was emphatic. “One hundred percent.”

“A player?”

“Mmm.”

“That’s what I suspected. I mean, he was flirting. With me. ”

Chloe’s brows went up. “Why not you?”

“I’m not really the kind of woman men flirt with all that often.”

“I don’t see why not. You’re cute.”

Alice did feel as if she’d at least made it onto the “cute” scale, even if she was hovering at the low end. The new clothing she’d bought for the trip was a minor factor. Shedding her Osprey Island persona as everyone’s favorite pal and all-around substitute worker was major. She was not nearly as drab and used-up as she’d been feeling the past few years.

Even her mother would have approved. Dorothy Potter had fretted over her youngest daughter’s lack of a social life, but she’d wanted Alice close. The small sum she’d set aside in her will as Alice’s “mad money” had been a total surprise.

Alice decided to confide. “I did have a drink with Kyle Jarreau last night.”

“Kyle Jarreau?” Chloe opened and closed her mouth, emitting only a faint squawk. She leaned over the table. “You’re serious? Kyle Jarreau? ”

“Is that so strange?”

“Hell, yeah. He doesn’t…um, well, he just doesn’t. ”

“It was only a friendly gesture.” But they’d flirted, or at least Alice had. Unless she’d built their twenty minutes together into a legend in her own mind. “He wanted to welcome me to the resort.”

“Ohhh, then, that’s different.” Chloe still seemed puzzled.

Alice dropped her gaze. “He was nice.”

“Mmm. I don’t think of him that way, but then, he’s my superior. And I’m only a cog in the wheel, far beneath his notice. It’s just that I’ve heard how he’s very strict about…”

Alice waited. Chloe’s hesitation seemed uncharacteristic.

The young woman blinked. “About everything, I suppose.”

Alice was oddly let down. “I sort of had that impression.”

“See,” Chloe went on, lowering her voice, “it’s that Prince Montez has this policy, all spelled out in the employee handbook actually, about how employees are not to ‘associate’ with the resort guests. Socially, that is. When I came aboard, I was told that engaging in hanky-panky would get me fired. No exceptions. Jarreau’s edict. Except for…”

Alice’s pulse picked up. Her lips felt strangely tender.

“…workers like Denver, for instance…” Chloe continued with a small grimace, and Alice’s expectations sank. They’d been absurd, anyway. Had she really expected Kyle to make an exception for her?

“He flirts very openly. And no one says a thing. He’s practically encouraged, because the female guests like it. Or the servers, for instance, and the pool attendants. They depend on tips, so of course some of them use what they’ve got to act extrafriendly with guests.” Chloe sat back. “But of course no one crosses the line. Not without consequences.”

Alice traced a finger along the edge of the waxed pine table. “I see.”

“I’ve said too much.”

“No, I’m glad I know. Not that I was taking Denver seriously. He was pretty obvious.” Alice flicked her bangs out of her eyes. Kyle was another matter. “But I suppose I did like it. I was flattered.”

“Sure, why not?” Chloe’s smile was a bit strained. “Enjoy the heck out of it. You’re on vacation!”

The cowboy tradition is alive and well in the American Southwest. Visit the authentic frontier town, Rawhide, at Wildhorse Pass.

July 22

Dear Jay,

Well, your big sister made it through her first full day of vacation relatively intact, except for sweating away about five pounds in the heat and suffering a bruised ego after a fall—my first attempt at horseback riding. It’s not as easy as it looks to “cowboy up.” Tomorrow they’re setting me loose in the desert for a nature hike. Watch out, cacti and scorpions!

XOXO,

Alice

CHAPTER FOUR

“I NCOMPETENTS .” Chef Rodrigo Chavez’s florid face was the same pinkish-purple as the sugar flower on the tip of his finger. “I am surrounded by incompetents!”

The resort’s catering manager and wedding coordinator exchanged wary looks. Stumbling over each other’s words, they tried to salve the chef’s legendary temper, which was matched in size only by his towering ego.

A flick of his meaty hand sent the offending sugar flower zinging past the manager’s head. It splatted against the kitchen wall. “Puce!” he roared. “I could vomit out a better wedding cake than the tripe you’re giving me.”

Behind him stood two of his staff, eyes downcast, looking defeated in their aprons and white hats. On the steel surface before them was the product of countless hours of work—the various layers and decorations that would become a wedding cake. Trays of meticulously handmade sugar flowers had been laid out in preparation for the final assembly.

“Puce!” Chavez repeatedly smashed the fragile creations, flattening them to pancakes. “I ask for lavender and these idiots insult me with puce. ”

The chef failed to notice that Kyle, summoned by the catering manager, had arrived through the secondary service entrance.

For once, Kyle had been grateful for the interruption. He’d had trouble concentrating on his work. Two nights in a row now—almost a habit. Dealing with a temperamental chef was a welcome distraction from the idea that he might possibly not be as disciplined as he’d always believed.

“Chef Chavez,” he said.

Down went the man’s fist. Bam. Bam. Bam. Trays rattled as they knocked together. One, filled with arched stems of sugar orchids, tipped over the edge of the counter and crashed to the floor. Everyone but Chavez flinched. The man was as oblivious as a toddler in a tantrum.

Kyle raised his voice. “Chavez.”

“Who…” The chef swung around, jowls swaying. Seeing Kyle, he snorted and scooped up one of the iced layers of cakes.

The wedding coordinator covered her eyes.

Kyle had hoped to save the situation; now he saw there was only one way to go. Quick, clean and direct.

“Chef Chavez,” he said, “you’re fired.”

“Fired? Rodrigo Chavez?” the chef sputtered. The cake in his fingers teetered wildly. “I am winner of the Soledad Ecole gold medal two years running. You can’t even think of firing me.”

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