Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CAST OF CHARACTERS

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

Copyright

How had she ended up naked in bed with her husband’s best man?

Dawn felt mortified. Yesterday she’d married Quentin Bayliss. She’d gone to bed with Quentin, explored Quentin’s body and nearly made love to him.

But now sexy Ross Duke was in her bed. He was watching her carefully as if she were a strange, potentially dangerous species of animal. This had to be a nightmare—a reasonable enough explanation considering all the champagne and rich food at her wedding reception. Or was Dawn going insane? Maybe she’d sleepwalked.

And yet the fact remained: If Ross was in her bed, then her husband had vanished.

Dawn’s heart suddenly pounded against her ribs, and she stared at Ross. “What are you doing in my bed?” she demanded in a lethal tone. “And what have you done with my husband?”

Dear Reader,

Imagine you’ve traveled far away, to a place of heady danger and luxurious romance nestled high in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The bellhop has left your bags and you’re about to unpack. You’ve finally reached the exciting Elk River Resort, the setting for Sheryl Lynn’s first book in her new duet, HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY, brought to you this month and next.

Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarrassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller’s jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fictionl

Harlequin Intrigue invites you to escape with Sheryl Lynn to the HONEYMOON HIDEAWAYI Next month don’t miss The Case of the Bad Luck Fiancél

Regards,

Debra Matteucci

Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

Harlequin Books

300 East 42nd Street

New York, New York 10017

The Case of the Vanished Groom
Sheryl Lynn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the gang, Tom and Tristan and Abby

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dawn Lovell-Bayliss—She’d been taught to use her head, not her heart, so she married the perfect man. Was he too perfect?

Ross Duke—He was thoroughly inappropriate—a black sheep, playboy, joker and charmer, but he’d do anything for Dawn.

Quentin Bayliss—Had Dawn’s husband been kidnapped, or was he a smooth talker who had suddenly left her?

Connie Haxman—The high-society mover and shaker would do anything to protect her darling Dawn.

Desdemona Hunter—The “Party Patter” columnist was always on the lookout for a juicy scandal.

Colonel Horace Duke—A stern patriarch and owner of Elk River resort, he knew his son Ross was up to no good.

Janine Duke—She won’t let anyone, not even her brother, threaten the family business.

Chapter One

Brad picked up Galena’s purse. He was dying for a smoke, but his fiancée was such a puritan she’d faint if he lit up in her presence, or even if she smelled it on him. If he recalled correctly, Galena smoked like a chimney.

“Hey!” Galena shouted, grabbing her purse out of his hands.

But not before Brad saw the unmistakable gleam of a firearm. He jumped and drew up his hands to protect his chest He stared wide-eyed at her. “Is that a gun? Are you nuts?”

She pulled a blue steel.32 automatic from her purse. She glared steadily at him. “I must be, for trusting you.”

He flopped onto a cheap chair, hating this sleazy motel room, and hating Galena. But if she got a whiff that he had a penny of his own, she’d go straight to Dawn and ruin everything. He watched her pace like a tigress, caressing the gun barrel as if it were a pet.

“I’m pretty good with this thing. I’ve changed a lot in five years, Brad—”

“Quentin,” he corrected. “My name is Quentin Bayliss. I told you, the Witness Protection Program insists that I stay in character all the time.” She stopped in the middle of the room and hung her head. Her shoulders shook. It took him a few seconds to realize she was laughing. He softened his tone. “I know what I did was wrong, baby. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice, but those mobsters were out to kill me. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anybody, or ever will. I still love you. If I could turn back the clock, I would.”

Her head snapped up. “Liar!”

“I don’t blame you for not believing me. If you’d run out on me, I’d have been—”

“Run out on you? You ruined me, Brad! I lost the gallery, I lost my house. I lost everything because of you.” She extended her right hand, and sighted down the barrel of the pistol, aiming it straight at his head. “Five years, baby. Five long years and the only thing I’ve done is hunt for you. If you don’t give me back my money, I will kill you.”

He huffed a heavy sigh. When he’d married her, she’d been a flaky artist, an appealing eccentric who always wore black and drank only Dom Perignon. Now she was just plain flaky, and obsessed—and dangerous. The only way to shake her off his tail would be to give up Dawn and her millions, but that he refused to do. “Look, Dawn promised to give me the money.”.

“Sure.”

“She thinks it’s a business debt, and she’s agreed to pay. A hundred and fifty grand, a cashier’s check. She promised to give it to me as soon as we’re married, but she won’t give it to me until we’re legal. Ten days, baby. Just hang on until the wedding. Then we’ll be square.”

“You better not be lying. Because you can’t hide from me anymore. No matter where you go, no matter what lies you tell, I will find you.” She lowered the pistol. “And if I have to find you again, you won’t have time to open your big mouth. I’ll put a couple of holes in your head and then we’ll really be square.”

“You won’t need money if you’re in prison,” he grumbled.

“I won’t care, as long as you’re dead.”

WONDERING WF she made the biggest mistake of her life, Dawn Lovell entered the lobby.

From the outside, the main lodge of Elk River resort looked rustic. Constructed of logs and stone, the lodge seemed to sprout from the rocky forest along with the towering pine trees.

Inside, Dawn gazed in wonder at the exposed beams high above the lobby and the posts sporting antlers and Old West memorabilia. As a native of Colorado, Dawn knew about Southwestern style. Only in theory, though, or from what she’d seen in magazines. Mother had not approved of “rustic charm.”

With guilty pleasure, Dawn approved heartily of the decor. She liked the brightly colored rugs on the pine floor and the squat furniture covered in geometricpatterned upholstery. Knotty-pine wall paneling had aged to a golden patina. Western art depicting cowboys, Native Americans, North American wildlife and sweeping landscapes enchanted her with earthy colors and lively subjects.

She twisted her engagement ring around her finger and wished Quentin had agreed to join her for this prewedding vacation.

A young woman behind the reception desk smiled curiously at Dawn. Another young woman carried a tray of drinks across the lobby to a man and woman seated before a window. A catch gripped Dawn’s throat as she stared at the pair. She hoped once she and Quentin were married, he’d settle down enough so they’d make a happy-looking couple. As much as she loved him, his hyperactivity distressed her.

“Dawn Lovell?”

The warm masculine voice startled Dawn. She caught her pocketbook in both hands. Turning her head slowly she stared into a pair of bright gray eyes.

Beautiful eyes sparkling to match a sunny smile. Dawn forgot her nervousness about being in a strange place. Forgot her loneliness. Forgot the curious looks of the girl behind the reception desk and the happy couple enjoying the panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains.

Deep in the secret place where she allowed her spirit freedom, she heard the crystalline whispering of bells.

The man lifted one thick eyebrow and his smile softened, turning crooked. “Are you Dawn Lovell?” he asked, but hesitantly, his voice lower.

Snapping back to herself, she lowered her gaze. She noted the man’s light gray trousers were of expensive fabric and cut, breaking perfectly over his shiny black loafers. “Uh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Miss Lovell.”

“Ross Duke.” He thrust out a hand.

Ross Duke, Quentin’s best friend since high school and the owner of this mountain resort. Quentin had assured her Ross would see to her every comfort this week, but he hadn’t told her his friend was so attractive. Or how the sunshine filtering through the windows appeared to dance against his chestnut hair.

Keeping his hand out, Ross said, “Quent didn’t describe you very well.”

She clutched her pocketbook more tightly. With eyes blinded by love, Quentin had most likely described her as an angel gracing the earth. Now Ross saw firsthand she was nothing special at all. By sheer force of will, she made her fingers release her pocketbook, leaving it to hang by the shoulder strap. She surreptitiously swiped her palm against her skirt before extending her hand for a proper handshake.

Ross touched her fingertips. Electric chills tickled her skin. He slid his hand across her palm and folded his fingers over the side of her thumb. While she puzzled over his unusual hold, he bent at the waist, lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of her hand.

The chills raced up her arm all the way to her shoulder. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her face warmed. She opened her mouth to protest, but a sigh emerged.

“Quent never said you were so pretty.”

Drowning in the smooth river of his voice, she stared helplessly at his handsome face.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Dawn. Where’s your luggage?”

Pretty? This man with movie-star good looks called her pretty?

He glanced at the wide doors where a young man wearing a white Western-style shirt and black trousers pushed a cart into the lobby. The sight of her dark brown luggage brought Dawn back to her earth.

Of course Ross Duke was charming. He had a resort to run and his job required flattering the guests. “There’s my luggage,” she said. “I’m about to check in. It’s—it’s—it’s kind of you to greet me.” Suddenly feeling conspicuous and out of place, she looked about. “This is the first time I’ve ever taken a vacation without my parents. Mother was very good at arranging the details.”

Ross cocked his head and gave her a curious look.

She mentally replayed her words. What a silly thing to say. At thirty years old, she was capable of arranging her own vacation plans.

“I prefer big pictures to details myself.” Ross grasped her elbow. “Here’s the desk.” He guided her across the lobby and presented her to the clerk. “Miss Dawn Lovell, sweetheart. She goes first-class all the way.”

The young woman, whose name tag read Kara, rolled her eyes and gave Ross a tense, admonishing smile. The rude expression vanished before she turned her attention on Dawn. Dawn noticed, however, and it made her uneasy. In her book, the boss shouldn’t call employees “sweetheart” and hired help shouldn’t make disrespectful faces at the boss.

After accepting Dawn’s credit card, Kara typed deftly into a computer. “Welcome to Elk River, Miss Lovell. All of us are looking forward to your wedding.” She placed the credit card, a room key, brochure packet and a maroon folder on the counter, then tapped the folder with a fingernail. “Mom made the arrangements for you. It’s all in here. I’m sure she’ll want to speak to you as soon as you’re settled.”

“Mom?” Dawn questioned.

Grinning insolently at Kara, Ross leaned against the counter. “Tsk, tsk, sweetheart, have to remember your professionalism.” He added in aside to Dawn, “She’s a trainee.”

“I mean Elise.” Kara’s cheeks turned pink. “Ross, dear, get lost. Don’t pay any attention to him, Miss Lovell. My brother thinks he’s a comedian.”

Ever since Quentin had insisted they hold the wedding and spend their honeymoon at Elk River Resort, Dawn had spoken many times to Elise Duke—Ross’s wife, she’d assumed. Now she realized she had misinterpreted the relationships. Ross and Kara were siblings and Elise was their mother. She felt a prickle of annoyance. As talkative as Quentin was, he could be terribly vague at times.

Quashing her irritation, she picked up a pen to sign the computerized slip Kara placed on the counter. Seeing clearly in her mind’s eye her father’s disapproval, she hesitated. “Conspicuous consumption is a certain sign of poor breeding,” he’d often told her.

What could be more conspicuous than to spend an idle week at a luxurious mountain resort? Quentin had been perfectly reasonable in his arguments. “You deserve it, darling. I’ll be busy the entire week and I can’t bear to think about you rattling around in that big lonely house, getting on your own nerves. Do it for me. Have fun. Walk in the woods. Play some tennis. Soak in the hot springs. I want you relaxed, suntanned and happy for our honeymoon.”

“Is there something wrong?” Kara asked. “Is your name spelled correctly?”

Dawn swallowed hard and signed the registration card.

Ross picked up the room key and nodded as he read the number. “The view will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, Dawn. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Stefan will show her to her room. Don’t you have something to do, Ross?”

He gave the question a moment’s thought before widening his eyes and shaking his head. “Nope. Only thing on my agenda this week is showing Dawn a good time.” He tossed the key and caught it in a graceful downward swipe.

“You better watch out for the Colonel.” Kara slammed a drawer under the counter.

“I’m shaking in my boots, sweetheart.” Ross swept Dawn toward a staircase.

Bemused by the interchange, Dawn waited until they reached the second floor before asking Ross about the Colonel.

“You’ll meet him. He’s my dad.”

“You call him the Colonel?”

“Everybody calls him the Colonel.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “He even calls himself the Colonel. I bet every morning when he goes in to shave, he salutes himself in the mirror.”

She supposed every family had its eccentrics. Except hers, of course; her parents had been the epitome of social grace and exemplary decorum. Eccentricity had never been tolerated in her home.

He stopped before Room 208 and dropped his hold on her arm. His release relieved her. His warm hand had been too possessive for comfort. When he turned his back to her, she rubbed her inner elbow briskly.

“It’s most generous of you to have your family living and working at your resort.” She admired the carpet; its Southwestern design made the windowless hallway cheerful.

Ross pushed open the door. “My resort?” He laughed. “Elk River is the Colonel’s baby, not mine. I only visit when I get nostalgic for some abuse from Mom and the girls. Do you have sisters?”

Now thoroughly confused, she shook her head. She’d completely misunderstood Ross’s connection to the resort.

“You’ve already met the baby, Kara. She’s still in college, so she only works here in the summertime. You’ll meet the other two soon enough. Janine’s the oldest. She runs the joint. Don’t let her cutie-pie looks fool you. She has the soul of a riverboat gambler holding four aces. Megan is in the middle. Don’t let her sucker you into a tennis match. She’ll take your head off.” He swept an arm in a wide, graceful gesture. “Ta-da! The Jesse James suite. Welcome.”

She crept inside. Her breath caught at the sight of so much sunshine drenched loveliness, and yes, rustic charm. The outer wall consisted of a massive bank of windows—Ross had not exaggerated about the view. Mountain peaks rose, baldly majestic, in the background. Despite its being June, snow was frozen in rivulets on the highest peaks, glittering like liquid pearls. Over the dark pine forest, checkered with bright patches of aspen trees, a hawk soared weightlessly.

“The Jesse James suite?”

“Do you know how the outlaw died?”

The vulgarities of history—especially concerning the notorious—had never been considered a fitting interest for a Lovell. She shook her head.

“Shot eight times and left for dead. Somehow, he managed to climb onto his horse and make it here. This used to be a brothel. The highest-class cathouse in the Rocky Mountains. Cattle barons traveled for days to sample the fancy women Madame Belle imported from Europe. Jesse and Belle were longtime friends, so she hid him from the posse in this very room and did her best to keep him alive.” Ross turned a mournful gaze upon the bed. It had a wrought-iron headboard crafted into a trellis of climbing roses and singing birds. “He died right there.”

Dawn took a few steps closer to the bed. Tingles of pleasurable fear squeezed her diaphragm. “He died here?”

“It’s not the same mattress. Some folks have seen Jesse riding a black horse down the hallway. His ghost always disappears into this room.”

“A ghost?” She turned to him with wide eyes. “This room is haunted?”

Ross made a strangled noise, then burst into laughter.

She looked between him and the bed, his laughter distracting her from coherent thought. The only thing she could focus on was the rich warmth of the sound and his handsome face creased in good humor.

Then she got it. “Mr. Duke, you made it all up.”

He shook a finger at her. “One of these days I’ll get that story out without cracking up. Definitely need to work on my delivery. And call me Ross.”

“Honestly! You shouldn’t tell tales about ghosts.”

“People like ghosts.”

He had a point. Until Ross began laughing, she’d been enjoying the idea of a sharing a room with a ghostly outlaw. She chuckled, and covered her mouth with a hand. Imagining her credulous face as she drank in Ross’s tale turned the chuckle into a laugh. She distracted herself by examining the beautifully crafted bed.

“The resort has history, but not of the shoot-’em-up, wild-west variety. The original lodge was built in the 1920s for a hunting club. They sold it to some back-east investors just in time for the Great Depression. The place was deserted until the fifties when Jute Hailstone bought it.”

“The cowboy actor?”

His smile dazzled her. “You’re a B-grade western fan?”

She blushed. Few people knew about her affinity for great old, bad movies.

“Jute turned it into a dude ranch. When he died, his kids didn’t want it, so they sold it to Ralph Beerson. He upgraded it into a resort and added the wings. The Colonel bought it from him.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

“I’ll be glad to tell you about it later.”

He moved across the room. Trying to keep at bay the schoolgirlish urge to stare openmouthed at his every move, she watched him. Tall and lean, he moved with an athlete’s smooth grace. His casual knit shirt fit snugly over his broad shoulders, but draped elegantly on his torso. He looked much younger than Quentin’s forty-two years. She liked the way his hair curled in back, barely brushing his shirt collar.

She caught herself twisting her engagement ring and made herself quit.

He opened a cabinet, revealing a television set and stereo. “In case you get bored. But I don’t intend to let you be bored for a minute.” In a slightly mocking manner, as if imitating a bellhop, he showed her the wet bar and the well-stocked cabinet of drinks and snacks. After a demonstration of the light switches, the bedside clock radio and the television/stereo remote control, he informed her the housekeeper’s name was Nancy.

His good humor put her at ease. In the spirit of the game, she tested the faucets in the bathroom and caressed the soft towels. She declared everything perfectly acceptable.

“Good.” His gray eyes gazed intently into hers; she wanted to sigh. “Stefan will be here in a minute with your luggage. Put on your play clothes, then join me in the lobby. We’ll have lunch before I take you on the grand tour.”

She supposed her linen suit wasn’t proper resort wear. “All right.”

His smile faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. His suntan gave his complexion a golden cast, contrasting with his pale eyes.

The bells pealed inside her soul.

Ross gave a start and turned away. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Dawn. We’re going to have a blast this week.”

She nodded slowly and pressed a hand between her breasts. Her heart raced as he closed the door behind him.

A shaft of sunlight flashed against the large diamond in her engagement ring. Guilt filled her throat and she swallowed hard. Ross Duke had definitely been flirting.

As she was certain she’d flirted in response.

And her wedding was less than a week away!

She hurried to the telephone. She must tell Quentin the resort vacation was a mistake. If he felt strongly about not holding the wedding at a church in Colorado Springs, then they could go downtown to the justice of the peace.

As she lifted the phone, she realized how silly she would sound. Surely Ross wouldn’t betray his best friend by flirting with his fiancée.

Quentin had been her godsend, rescuing her from the lonely grief of losing both her parents within the space of a year. He loved her. He worshipped her. He wanted the very best for her.

She hung up the telephone. Her gaze traveled the room and settled on the breathtaking view out the window. She loved the mountains. Her most pleasurable indulgence was the sound of her boots on rocks and the crisp taste of mountain air in her lungs. This vacation was Quentin’s way of indulging her—his gift. She could not toss a gift of love back in his face.

She smiled at her own foolishness. All her life she’d been warned about men like Ross Duke. Too handsome, too glib, too charming, and far too interested in her money. “Use your head, never your heart,” her father had told her time after time. “Emotion causes nothing but trouble. Logic and reason are the criteria for a successful life.”

Quentin Bayliss was the logical choice for her husband: a successful businessman whom she suspected was even wealthier than she. He had good manners, impeccable breeding and courage. Father and Mother would have approved. Logic also told her Ross had a vested interest in her satisfaction with Elk River Lodge. Even if he didn’t own the resort, his family did, and all resort owners needed happy guests.

She fingered her engagement ring, watching sunlight create rainbows around the diamond.

Hearing bells was foolishness, illogical, ridiculous. Ross Duke meant nothing to her and he never would.

“ITHINK I’M GOING to be sick to my stomach,” Dawn said. She gazed haplessly at Connie. Her friend knelt, scrubbing at a tiny spot marring the scalloped hem of Dawn’s wedding dress.

Connie Haxman lifted her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“I shouldn’t be getting married. It’s a mistake.” She stared at the clock radio next to the bed. In one hour she and Quentin would exchange their vows in the Sweet Pines Chapel. “Quentin doesn’t know me well enough. What do I have to offer? I don’t even know any jokes!”

Connie rose to her feet and tugged at her pale fawn jacket. “You’re the nicest girl I know.” She grinned saucily. “Kind of neurotic, but perfectly nice.”

Feelings ruffled, Dawn sniffed. “I am not neurotic.”

Connie glanced at the small tape recorder lying on the bed. “You’re the only person in the entire world who actually uses one of those things to make memos. And don’t forget, I’ve seen your Daytimer. You could singlehandedly organize an entire country.”

Dawn peered with worry at the tape recorder. Making verbal notes to oneself made perfect sense. She could reuse the cassette tapes countless times, helping the environment by cutting down on the use of paper. “That makes me neurotic?”

“In a nice way.” Connie laughed. “Chin up, my darling, you’re a gorgeous bride. This is nothing but jitters. Even I feel the jitters when I get married, and I’ve had plenty of experience.”

Dawn managed a small smile, but debated how much to tell Connie. They’d been friends since the day Dawn began volunteering for the Children’s Betterment Society, which Connie had founded. Mother had always dismissed the socialite by saying, “One can drape a hound in jewels and even take it to the ball, but it remains a hound.”

Despite Mother’s opinion, Dawn loved Connie. She laughed too loud, drank too much and wore vulgar clothing, but she had tremendous energy and a generous heart.

Dawn twisted her engagement ring. “I’m not—I mean—I don’t know. I’m not sure if I love him.”

Connie folded her arms, pressing her impressive bosom higher. “This is moving kind of fast. You met him at the Valentine’s Day ball, so that makes it what, four months?”

“It’s not that fast,” Dawn said hesitantly. Quentin swore love at first sight and had proposed three weeks after they met. “I am thirty, and I want children. I don’t have time to waste on a long engagement.”

“Are you asking my advice, opinion, what?”

Knowing only that she didn’t know what she wanted, Dawn considered. “Assurance?”

“All right. Quentin is good-looking and obscenely wealthy. He can charm the socks off a brass statue. He’s funny, bright, and I think your father would have approved.”

“Really?”

Connie chuckled. “One shark always approves of another.”

Not understanding the joke, Dawn peered closely at Connie’s face.

“Oh, please, my darling. Your father was a Great White. He didn’t get where he did by being sweet.” She held up a hand, displaying an impressive number of diamond, sapphire and emerald rings. “Do not get me started on your parents. We’ll both be sorry. We’re discussing Quentin.”

Dawn hung her head. Connie had disliked the Lovells as much they had disliked her. Occasionally she indulged in tirades, calling Edward Lovell a bully with ice in his blood and a stock-market ticker for a brain. Worse, she called Deborah Lovell a stuck-up, snobbish, bluenosed twit without an ounce of compassion. Worst of all, Dawn sometimes secretly agreed.

“Quentin has a lot of energy. He’ll force you to come out of your shell.” She held her hands wide in a gesture of welcome. “Maybe he’ll succeed where I’ve failed and draw you out into the open where you belong. You’ll make beautiful children, to whom I give permission in advance to call me Auntie.”

“Oh, Connie.”

“Oh, my darling, forget these silly jitters.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “Unless you’d care to postpone this ridiculous wedding in the sticks and let me throw a proper bash for you? I still can’t believe, you’re not inviting anybody. Not even one reporter!”

Dawn sheepishly shrugged. “I have too invited people. Important people.” Her short guest roster included those people who had been especially close to her parents. She and Quentin had argued about including any guests at all, and about having a reception. He claimed anything other than a small, private ceremony would turn into a media circus. She argued that her parents’ friends would be irreparably offended if she failed to hold some kind of celebration. They’d compromised by holding the wedding out of town and keeping the guest list under thirty. “Quentin doesn’t like publicity. I don’t care much for it myself. Besides, considering my age, a huge wedding seems rather—”

“Watch it. I’m a year or two past thirty myself.”

Dawn hid a smile by lowering her face. “The wedding itself doesn’t bother me at all. I find it all very romantic.” Screwing up her courage, she admitted, “It’s another man.”

Connie gasped. When Dawn looked up, she realized it was a delighted gasp.

“I don’t mean it that way! You see, Quentin’s best friend has been my companion this week. He’s been…wonderful.”

Connie tapped her lower lip with a talonlike fingernail.

“We’ve gone hiking and horseback riding. I don’t know how many games of tennis we’ve played. We’ve gone swimming and had picnics. We’ve watched movies. I was reluctant to take this vacation, but now I’m glad I did. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

“You haven’t.you know?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. He’s been a proper gentleman. He’s Quentin’s best friend, after all. I don’t know why he wasn’t at dinner last night, but you’ll meet him at the wedding and I’m sure you’ll agree, he’s very nice.”

“You’re attracted to him.”

She nodded miserably. “I shouldn’t be. He hasn’t a serious thought in his head. Even his own family apologizes for his behavior. We haven’t talked about anything personal, but I gather he doesn’t hold an honest job. I think he’s a professional gambler. He’s rude to his own father. He teases his mother and sisters unmercifully. He has no ambition. He tells outrageous lies, then laughs when he’s caught in them. Altogether an inappropriate man.”

“But you fell in love with him anyway.”

“No!” Dawn closed her eyes. “It’s just that.around Ross I feel, I feel—”

“Pretty? Special?”

“Yes,” Dawn whispered in a sigh. “I feel so guilty and disloyal. What am I to do? I can’t marry Quentin under false pretenses.”

Connie laughed. She grasped Dawn by the shoulders and made her turn around to face a mirror. “Latebreaking news bulletin, my darling, you are both pretty and special.”

Dawn stared wide-eyed at the vision in the mirror. Appliqués of white roses and twining leaves overlaid the sleeveless, fitted bodice. Matching appliques covered the tea-length, scalloped hem, and a pair of embroidered roses fastened the narrow sash. Her hair was upswept into a French twist held by combs festooned with tiny rosebuds; a single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Cosmetics expertly applied by Connie made her eyes large and luminous.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Connie said softly. Her eyes glistened with tears. “My little mouse has blossomed. I wish you were my own daughter.” She snatched a tissue from a box and dabbed at her eyes.

Dawn wondered if Ross saw her this way when he stared so intently at her. She prayed Quentin saw her this way, too.

“Don’t worry about being attracted to another man. Despite your mother’s best efforts, you’re a perfectly normal young woman. It’s only natural to get the hots over a hunky man.”

Dawn frowned at Connie’s reflection in the mirror.

A soft knock on the door caused both women to turn. Dawn steadied herself with a deep breath. “The car must be here. I’m ready.”

Moving toward the door, Connie asked, “Are you sure? There’s still time to back out.”

Dawn clasped her trembling hands over her fluttering stomach. “Marrying Quentin is the right thing.”

“Good.” She opened the door.

Hands in his pockets, his tuxedo jacket hanging open, Ross Duke stood in the doorway. “Hi.” He extended a hand. “You must be Mrs. Haxman.”

Connie exchanged a glance with Dawn. Then she straightened her shoulders to better show off her bosom, cocked a hip, and laid her hand against Ross’s. “And you must be Ross.”

He kissed the back of her hand. Connie giggled like a girl.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make the rehearsal dinner last night. We could have gotten properly acquainted.”

“You can’t possibly be sorrier than I am.” Connie dreamily rubbed the back of her hand.

“What are you doing here, Ross?” Dawn asked. “Shouldn’t you be with Quentin at the chapel?”

“May I speak to you for a moment?”

He looked serious, even solemn, without a trace of his usual teasing sunniness. She just knew he’d come to tell her Quentin wanted to call off the wedding.

Connie looked between them. “I’ll go check on the car.”

Before Dawn could protest, Connie was gone. Ross glanced at the hallway behind him before slipping into the room and softly closing the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her heart shouldn’t be pounding and she shouldn’t be thinking how devastatingly gorgeous he looked in a tuxedo, either. The summer-weight fabric draped gracefully over his broad shoulders and the stark white shirt set off his tan to perfection.

“Are you sure about all this?”

She focused on her restless feet, willing them to stay still. She didn’t dare look at Ross. The bells she longed to hear belonged to Quentin, not to this rascally playboy. “Sure about what?”

He lifted his shoulders in a quick shrug, then shifted his weight from foot to foot and smoothed a hand across the side of his head. He stared at the floor. “Marriage.” The word emerged in a rush, as if it pained him to speak. “It’s a major commitment.”

“I know about commitments,” she said coldly. “Is something wrong with Quentin?”

He looked up sharply. “You can do better than Quent.”

Dawn gasped.

Ross’s eyes widened and he clamped his hands on his hips. The action pushed back his jacket, revealing a cummerbund snug about his narrow waist. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I should say not.” The fear of Quentin deserting her faded away as she realized she’d heard about this kind of thing before. Ross must be one of those determined bachelors who considered marriage something akin to a prison sentence. Ross hated the idea of his friend falling into such a miserable fate.

“You’re not at all what Quent led me to believe. Maybe he isn’t the right guy for you.”

Emotion swelled in her throat and burned her eyes. She suddenly hated Ross for daring to speak what she felt. She especially hated him for being so attractive, for making her feel attractive, and for making her uncertain about the man she loved.

“Leave, please.”

“This is the rest of your life, Dawn.” He held out a hand and his fingertips twitched, beckoning. “You’re special. You deserve the best.”

What he possibly hoped to gain from this confrontation was beyond her comprehension. “I love Quentin, and he loves me. If you’d listen to your mother instead of fooling around all the time, you might understand what that means. Now, leave.”

His thick eyebrows lowered and his eyes narrowed. A dark flush rose on his cheeks. He turned for the door. “Guess I stepped out of line.”

She gazed upon his broad shoulders and lowered head, and suffered a pain so deep it threatened to double her over. She pressed an arm to her aching stomach. “Let’s not argue. Please. You’ve been very kind to me this week and I appreciate it more than you can know. I’d like us to be friends.”

He turned his head enough to see her over his shoulder. “Kind? You’re either stupid or completely clueless.” Shaking his head, he left the room.

He called her stupid? What did she expect from the likes of him? He’d spent the entire week undermining her confidence in Quentin. An experienced, worldly man such as he must have recognized her lack of experience with men. He was one of those predators she’d always been warned about, amusing himself at her expense—at Quentin’s expense.

She grabbed a tissue from the box and carefully dabbed at her burning eyes. She didn’t cry; she never cried. She certainly wasn’t going to start because of a man like Ross Duke.

Chapter Two

“Surprise!” Connie Haxman hooted a laugh as she tugged the arm of a tiny woman.

Seated at the head table in the reception hall, Dawn tensed. She stared at the newcomer’s emerald-green satin suit and the marabou-festooned hat perched at an angle on her carroty hair. Desdemona Hunter, society reporter and author of the biweekly “Party Patter” column, was one of Connie’s dearest friends. Desdemona—called Dizzy by her friends—graced every guest list that mattered in southern Colorado. None of Connie’s countless charity balls, dinners or holiday celebrations could proceed without Desdemona’s reporting.

Next to Dawn, Quentin choked on the champagne he was in the midst of swallowing. Desdemona’s photographer snapped pictures. The popping flash blinded Dawn, and red spots danced in the air before her eyes. Quentin coughed into a napkin.

Dawn thrust a hand toward the photographer. “Please! No more photographs. Please.”

“It’s my gift to you, my darling. The wedding of Dawn Lovell-Bayliss is front-page news.” Connie looped an arm around Desdemona’s shoulders. “Don’t you agree, Dizzy?”

“Or at least, worthy of an entire column. My, my, my, just look at all these lovely people! Is that Judge Gideon? It is him! Ooh, and Elizabeth Masterson. Whatever is your connection to her?” Desdemona nodded vigorously, making her marabou feathers jiggle and bob. “Your dress is exquisite, Dawn. Is that a Karan, dear?”

“Uh, no, it’s an Angelo. It’s not an original, though, I didn’t have time to order a custom—”

Quentin pressed his mouth against Dawn’s ear. “Get rid of that idiot right now!”

Dawn recoiled from Quentin’s red face and glittering eyes. As she stared in horror at the purple splotches spreading across his cheeks and the vein pulsing in his forehead, she realized she had much to learn about her new husband.

The wedding ceremony in Sweet Pines Chapel had been accomplished without a hitch. Two dozen of Dawn’s friends had come from Colorado Springs, and the small gathering had nearly filled the tiny chapel. The only low spot had been Ross Duke. He’d performed his bestman duties exactly as he was supposed to, but he’d been grim-faced throughout the ceremony. Now everyone gathered at the Elk River lodge where Elise Duke and her daughters had arranged a sit-down reception dinner worthy of royalty. Everyone except Ross; he’d disappeared.

Despite Ross’s peculiarities, the evening reception had unfolded with the watercolored loveliness of a sweet dream. The tables were laid with snowy cloths and silver service, and draped with garlands of silk roses. Dawn had giggled throughout toasts to the happy couple. She and Quentin had fed each other wedding cake. They’d danced. They’d eaten a dinner of venison medallions and chanterelles prepared by a master chef. They drank champagne and gazed into each other’s eyes.

Now Connie had turned the dream into a nightmare by bringing in a reporter. To make matters worse, Dizzy Hunter and her photographer acted like a magnet, drawing the wedding guests near. They were the cream of Colorado Springs society: judges, high-powered attorneys, doctors and CEOs. Dainty purses unsnapped as women checked their lipstick and hair; men straightened ties and smoothed jackets. Dawn feared the quiet, dignified celebration she’d promised Quentin was about to turn into the media circus he had feared.

Dawn did not understand Quentin’s aversion to media attention, but she did realize he was serious about it. She stood abruptly, waving both hands at Connie and Desdemona.

“Stop taking photographs right now!”

Glaring suspiciously at Dawn, Desdemona made a curt hand signal. The photographer lowered his camera. People hushed, watching Dawn. Some appeared offended by her outburst, but most looked surprised.

“Excuse me.” Quentin leapt off his chair. Holding the napkin close to his face, he hurried toward the men’s room. With his hunched shoulders, shuffling walk and the napkin pressed to his face, he gave the impression of a man about to be sick.

Desdemona clamped her fists on her hips. “Well!”

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry.” Connie hurried to Dawn’s side. “I didn’t mean to make him angry. What did I do?”

“I—I’m not sure. Oh, Ms. Hunter, I’m so embarrassed. I had no idea Quentin would.” Dawn stared helplessly in the direction her husband had gone. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to apologize for what had happened, or even if an apology were required. “I believe my husband has a phobia.”

“This is my fault, Dizzy,” Connie said. “Dawn told me not to invite reporters.”

“A phobia about reporters.” Desdemona’s face was skewed by a skeptical grimace. “Oh, right.”

The photographer turned his camera over in his hands. “Maybe it’s the flash, Dizzy. He could be a war vet or something. You know, having flashbacks about mortar rounds.”

The Colonel appeared. Wearing a somber black tuxedo, with his silver hair cropped short and his back as erect as if he wore a brace, he cut an imposing figure. He glared down his nose at the photographer. The young man quailed under the Colonel’s fearsome gaze.

“Is there a problem, Mrs. Bayliss?”

It took a few seconds for Dawn to realize the Colonel was addressing her. She glanced at her guests. She sensed pity mixed with censure, for Quentin Bayliss was not one of them and his actions now highlighted his not belonging in their society. She imagined the gossip that would soon be rippling along golf courses and through country clubs, and deeply regretted not following Quentin’s advice in forgoing a reception. She forced a smile to assure her guests all was well. “Uh, no, sir, Colonel, sir. No problem.”

Desdemona pressed forward. “Colonel Horace Duke! Sir, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” She grabbed his right hand in both of hers and pumped it. “Desdemona Hunter. Surely you follow my column. I adore what you’ve done with the lodge. Ralphie Beerson let it go to pot, and it was a crying shame. I’d love to see this place make a comeback as the place to party.”

Connie drew Dawn away from the table. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I only meant to give a gift you could keep in your scrapbook. Can you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m certain Quentin is finding the humor in this by now.” She eyed the Colonel, whose crispness was fading fast under the onslaught of Desdemona’s rapid-fire compliments. A smile appeared on his craggy face.

The smile reminded her of Ross, who, in height and build, resembled his father. Ross had disappeared from the reception soon after the toasts had ended and before the dancing began. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since the confrontation in her room.

“Dawn?” Connie’s voice was low with concern.

She shook away thoughts of Ross. “I don’t think anybody approves of Quentin. Look at them whispering.”

“Don’t be silly. Everyone thinks he’s charming. They’re concerned for you, that’s all.”

Feeling pity for me, more likely, Dawn thought. She hated being the target of pity, and avoided the countryclub-golfing circuit because she knew people pitied her. Mousy, awkward and unfashionable, she’d never lived up to her mother’s beauty and flair, or her father’s intelligence and ambition. Now they probably thought she had married beneath her. They did not understand Quentin loved her for herself. “Do you think it’s too early for Quentin and me to retire to our cabin?”

“That’s a marvelous idea. I’ll ask someone to go in after Quentin and make certain he’s okay.” She smiled broadly. “I bet his nerves finally caught up to him. I have never in my life seen such a coolheaded groom. Ha! I knew it had to be an act.”

When Connie left her, Dawn looked around the hall for any sign of Ross. As people tried to catch her eye, she regretted even more deeply inviting them to her wedding. She’d done so out of obligation, because if her parents were alive they would have invited these people. Their jostling around Dizzy Hunter in the hope of a photo opportunity proved Dawn’s wedding was merely another chance to be seen in the company of the right people. Unlike Ross, who had never seemed to care a whit about her breeding or who she knew or the size of her stock portfolio. She hated herself for wanting one last glimpse of him, for wanting to hear his rich, good-humored voice one more time. She especially hated how much his coldness hurt her feelings.

She lowered her gaze to her wedding ring, a simple gold band nestled against the gaudy engagement diamond. She was Mrs. Quentin Bayliss until death do them part. From this day forward only her husband deserved her love, attention or concern.

Ross Duke was nothing but a memory.

“MRS. BAYLISS,” Quentin said. He held Dawn’s hand and squeezed her fingers. He gestured at the front door of the Honeymoon Hideaway cabin.

“Mr. Bayliss,” she replied. Enchanted, excited and a little bit afraid, she squeezed his hand in return. “It’s so pretty.”

“I knew you’d like it. Those sensible clothes of yours hide a romantic streak as deep as the Grand Canyon.”

Discomfited he’d noticed and pleased he had, she giggled. “I can’t imagine anything more romantic than this.”

Tiny white lights draped in the bushes and trees lighted the gravel path leading from the lodge to the cabins. The four Honeymoon Hideaway cabins were angled and landscaped so each had a private entryway. Spotlights illuminated a central pond where triple fountains gleamed like quicksilver.

He unlocked the door, then bowed to her. “Might I have the honor of carrying my lovely bride over the threshold?”

Her knees wobbled, and her heart pounded so hard that she felt positive it might beat its way free of her body. “Please.”

He pushed open the door, then scooped Dawn into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Laughing, he carried her into the cabin, and set her carefully on her feet. For a moment she thought he was going to embrace and kiss her, but he turned toward the bar where champagne was chilling in a silver bucket.

Disappointment filled her. Quentin was always a perfect gentleman and never pressed her sexually. She considered his restraint one of his best qualities. Predators wanted either sex or money from a woman, and Quentin was no predator. Still, she’d hoped marriage would make him more affectionate.

She wandered slowly, fearing to blink lest this beautiful room disappear. Her shoes sank luxuriously into the velvety carpet. She eyed a low table with a pickled finish that gave the wood a rosy glow. The entire room seemed to glow. She edged closer to the bed.

Bed seemed far too mundane a noun to describe the plush wonder of the king-size mattress covered with a confection of pink satin and ecru lace, piled high with pillows. It seemed to invite her to jump into its plumpness.

“Would you like me to start a fire, darling?” Quentin asked.

“It would be pretty, but much too warm. I think not.” She enjoyed his handsome smile. Despite a tendency to fat, he presented a solid, masculine figure. She loved his thick, black hair and couldn’t wait to run her fingers through it. He held out a flute of champagne and a silver tray piled high with chocolate truffles.

At his urging, she selected a truffle. “No more champagne, thank you. I’ve already imbibed enough.”

His eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth turned down. “A private toast.”

“You’re the true romantic, not me.” She accepted the champagne. Behind her the bed seemed to whisper her name and she tingled with anticipation. “To what shall we drink?”

“To you. You’ve made me a very happy man today. You have given me riches beyond compare.”

“I do love you,” she whispered, gazing into his warm brown eyes. Desire tickled her deep inside. With it came guilt. Her one affair had happened a long time ago when she was in college, but the shame from then mingled with her recent infatuation with Ross Duke. A horrible urge filled her to confess everything.

“Dawn? What’s the matter?”

She had to look away. She had never meant to deceive him, but now she was trapped in her lies. “There are things about me you don’t know.” She pressed the rim of the flute against her lower lip. The fuzzy sweetsourness tickled her nose. “I should have told you before. I—I—I have done something I’m rather ashamed of.”

“I know everything about you I need to know.” He touched her chin with a fingertip and gently urged her to look at him. “Darling Dawn. You are precious to me. If what you mean to say is you have acted a bit indiscreetly in the past, rest assured it makes no difference to me. What matters is now.”

She searched his eyes, fearing she’d find anger or insincerity or jealousy. She found warmth, compassion and shining love. The urge to confess withered.

He touched her champagne flute with his. Crystal against crystal rang like a bell. “A toast to the happiness you have given me by becoming my bride.”

He drank deeply; she followed suit, draining her champagne. An aftertaste tightened her cheeks. The wine had soured, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. She smiled quickly so as not to spoil the moment.

Seconds later her head began to spin and nausea roiled in her belly. She regretted every drop of champagne she’d swallowed this evening.

“Darling?”

Quentin’s voice seemed to come from a hundred miles away. Rosy lights swirled and danced, offering no opportunity to focus on anything. She swayed and was vaguely aware of dropping the truffle. She knew she had dropped it, but could not make her hand grab for it. Before she realized it, she was sitting on the bed while Quentin loomed over her. Her vision doubled and his image swam before her eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked, smiling as he held her shoulders.

“The champagne.” Her voice sounded froggy and slow. Her head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to hold it upright.

“An excellent vintage, wouldn’t you agree? Only the best for you, darling, only the very best.”

DAWN OPENED her eyes slowly, painfully. Gradually her vision adjusted enough to give her a shadowy view of curtained windows. As her head cleared, she remembered she was in the honeymoon cabin with her new husband.

Chilled, she rubbed her bare arms. Stiff fabric against her forearms roused her curiosity. She felt her bosom and belly, tracing the patterns of leaves and roses. She recognized her sash and the embroidered-rose fasteners.

She was still wearing her wedding dress!

She gingerly felt about her and figured out she lay atop the covers on the bed. Which meant the large shape under the covers next to her was Quentin.

She covered her eyes with both hands. Only she—clumsy, inept, ridiculous she—could get drunk on her wedding night and pass out on her groom. She swore she’d never drink another drop of champagne as long as she lived.

“Quentin?” she said softly. “Dear?” She sat up and looked over his body. The cold blue light of the clock showed it was not yet five in the morning.

She eased off the bed. With both hands outstretched, she groped her way to the bathroom. Only after she had shut the door did she turn on the light.

The light seemed as bright as a phosphorous flare, piercing her eyeballs with needles. Eyes squeezed shut, she sagged against the door and groaned. So this was what a hangover felt like. Lovely.

The pain faded quickly and by degrees she opened her eyes, testing her tolerance. Except for a mild throbbing in her sinuses she felt fine.

She glowered at her reflection. Her beautiful dress was rumpled and dingy-looking. Half her hair had come loose and now hung in scruffy hanks around her face. What remained of the twist had tangled into a lopsided knot. Mascara was smeared under her eyes and her face was blotchy. The string of pearls had left a red imprint along her neck, giving her the appearance of a strangulation victim.

Groaning, she turned away from the mirror, and faced another. The bathroom was lined with mirrors and inset lighting. The afteraffects of her overindulgence were thrown back at her in triplicate and quadruplicate.

Her gaze rested on the bathtub, an oval gold- and-pinkmarble delight big enough for two. If she hadn’t been such a lush, she and Quentin could have spent an hour or two frolicking in the tub. “But, no,” she muttered. “You have to drink too much and spoil everything.”

She stripped out of her clothing, praying a good dry cleaner could repair the damage she’d done to her dress. She stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water full force in hopes that the hot, pulsating spray would make the remainder of her headache vanish.

When she was done, she peeked out of the bathroom. The room had lightened enough for her to discern Quentin’s bulk under the covers. Not enough, though, for her to figure out where the employees who’d transferred her belongings from the lodge to this cabin had put her negligée.

She mustered courage. They were married, which meant no secrets—or shyness—between them. She looked down at her nude body. A strict regimen of exercise and proper diet kept her trim, but her breasts were too small and her hips were angular.

For better or worse, she thought. Quentin knew he hadn’t married a beauty queen. Giving herself no time for cowardice, she stepped out of the bathroom. She left the door ajar and followed the narrow strip of light to the bed.

Quentin lay on his side with his back to her. The morning was cool, but not cold, yet the covers were bundled to his ear. She eased pillows out of the way, and slid under the sheets.

The heat radiating off him took her aback. She laid a hand against his bare shoulder, finding him damp with sweat. She marveled he could bear the weight of the sheets, blanket and comforter. A smile tugged her lips. Perhaps he had overindulged in the champagne, too. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had been in no shape last night to take advantage of the bridal bed.

Perhaps he might forgive her.

She folded back the covers, baring him to the waist. Between the pale glow of the clock, the silvering light of dawn seeping through the curtains and the light from the bathroom, she had a view of a shadow man. He smelled hot and distinctly masculine. She caressed his shoulder and was amazed by how hard his muscles felt in repose. She explored his ribs and waist, finding him lean and muscular without a trace of softness. For a man who showed not the slightest interest in exercise or sports, he was in surprisingly good shape.

Heat flooded her midsection, centering deep within her belly. She pushed the covers all the way off, kicking the comforter off the bed. Wide-eyed, she sat up and admired his long, sleek body, now outlined in gold and silver.

“Quentin?” She poked his shoulder with a finger. “Quentin, it’s morning, dear. Time to wake up.”

He remained exactly as he had been.

Irked by his lack of response, she considered her options. Leaving him alone seemed the most considerate thing to do. Unlike her, Quentin was not a morning person. She could order coffee and breakfast. Surely the smell of coffee would rouse him in a gentle, friendly manner. Or, she could take a morning jog through the forest and he’d be awake by the time she returned.

She poked him again. This time he grunted and shifted his arm. “I love you, dear,” she said. “I’m sorry I drank too much last night. I have no head for alcohol.”

She ran her tongue over a hard ridge of muscle along his triceps. His skin had a faintly salty taste, with a woodsy undertone. He shifted again and pawed at his face. She kissed the side of his neck and his hair tickled her nose. He made a soft mmm sound, and she decided it meant approval.

Amused, but frustrated, she wondered if there were boundaries of taste in marital relations. This one-sided exploration was beginning to make her feel as if she were molesting him.

She grasped his shoulder with both hands and pulled him over onto his back. He lolled, his right hand flopping onto the mattress.

“Are you playing a joke on me?” She peered closely at his face, longing to see his features. “Wake up, dear.”

She delicately touched the center of his chest, resting her fingertips over his heart. His chest rose and fell, and crisp hairs parted before her caress. His skin had cooled. She followed the cleft between his pectorals, up to the bony ridge of his clavicle, detoured in the intriguing musculature at the base of his throat and then to his chin. Beard stubble rasped her fingers. She found his lips supple and soft.

She pressed a kiss to his mouth.

She drew back a few inches. He smacked his lips.

“I knew you were awake,” she whispered. She kissed him again, savoring the erotic sensitivity of her lips and the warmth of his.

He touched a hand to her shoulder. Triumphant, grown giddy with excitement, she pressed the kiss and he responded by parting his lips. She touched the tip of her tongue to his and fire burst within her, filling her with liquid heat. He clutched her shoulder, his fingers touchingly awkward, but very strong.

Unable to bear either the silence or darkness, she reached over his chest and groped for the nightstand. He slid his hand over her back and pressed her closer to him. His mouth turned hot against her neck, kissing her with wet lustiness. She shivered.

“Let me find the light, dear.” Her body was twisted into an awkward position, so she struggled for balance. He resisted her efforts, holding her against him with one arm. Her breasts burned against his chest. She almost gave up on finding the lamp when his hold relaxed and she lunged over his body.

He mumbled unintelligibly and stroked his hand flat along her spine, ending up resting it boldly on her bare bottom. She gasped and found the lamp. She turned on the light.

Turning about, resting across his body, she smiled down at her groom.

She realized instantly the situation was not right, but it was so not right her brain locked up, unable to process what she saw. Instead of falling in heavy, jet-black, straight hanks, his hair was brown and soft with a curl. His face, instead of being rather full with heavy jowls, was lean and chiseled with high cheekbones and a squarish jaw. The eyes were all wrong, too. Instead of warm brown, they were bleary, bloodshot and pewter-gray.

He squinted as if the light pained him.

Dawn remembered a time she’d absentmindedly walked into a men’s room instead of the ladies’ room. It had taken several seconds for the sight of urinals and the absence of a vanity to sink in so she could realize her mistake. Once she had, she’d been horrified.

But not half as horrified as she was now.

Ross Duke grimaced. “Dawn? What are you doing in my room?”

Chapter Three

A reasonable explanation existed. One always did, even if it didn’t appear exactly reasonable at first glance. Or so Dawn told herself as she stared at Ross’s confused face.

But explanations, reasonable or otherwise, eluded her completely. Ending up naked in a bed with her husband’s best man defied explanation. Scarcely daring to breathe, her heart drumming in her ears, she inched backward, cringing as her breasts collided with his chest. She groped blindly for a pillow, found something fluffy and snatched it to her bosom. Never taking her eyes off Ross’s face, she crawled slowly, clumsily across the bed.

Ross watched her as if she were a strange, potentially dangerous species of animal.

The mattress seemed a hundred yards wide, but finally her feet found empty air and she slid onto the floor. Hunched over, holding the pillow over her breasts and belly, she backed toward the bathroom.

Ross suddenly dropped an arm over his eyes.

She scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door, fumbling with the lock until it turned. She looked wildly around the bathroom. Spying a pair of fluffy, terry-cloth robes hanging on the back of the door, she grabbed one, dropped the pillow and clothed herself.

Half-fearing Ross would come bursting through the door, she kept a fierce gaze on it as she sank onto the rim of the bathtub.

“A nightmare,” she whispered. Her heart thudded, making her chest ache.

This had to be a-nightmare—a reasonable enough explanation considering all the champagne and rich food she’d indulged in last night. If she went to the door and peeked out, the man on the bed would be Quentin. She’d married Quentin, she’d gone to bed with Quentin, she’d explored Quentin’s body and nearly made love to him.

She was going insane.

Or perhaps. Her eyes widened, and her heart began hammering anew. She’d had a nightmare and sleepwalked, something she’d done often as a child. This wasn’t the honeymoon cabin, it was Ross’s room in the lodge. By now, Quentin must have realized she was missing and he’d never understand how she’d ended up in his best friend’s bedroom.

Sharp raps on the. door made her moan. She clutched her knees, certain she was going to be sick. Please be Quentin, she prayed, let me wake up and discover the man banging on the door is Quentin.

“Dawn? What’s going on? Open the door.”

Ross! Tears rose, but she choked them down, leaving her throat sore and her eyes burning. She rocked on the tub edge.

“I’m in trouble here,” he called. “Please open the door.”

He was in trouble? As far as he was concerned, this situation held the potential for a funny story to tell all his friends. She, on the other hand, had awakened from a somnambulist nightmare in another man’s bed and hadn’t the faintest idea how to explain her near-adultery to her husband!

“Dawn? Sweetheart, answer me. Are you all right? Dawn!”

The edge of fear in his voice reached her. She crept to the door. “Please go away,” she called through the wood.

“I can’t. Open the door.”

Steeling her nerves, she unlocked the door and opened it about an inch. She peered out. To her relief Ross had wrapped a sheet around his waist.

He held up a hand, showing her his empty palm. “I swear to God, I don’t know how I got in here. Where’s Quent?”

She opened the door wide enough to take a good look at the room. She recognized the honeymoon cabin. So it was her bed, not Ross’s. She opened the door all the way.

With one hand clutching the sheet, Ross held his head with his other hand and staggered toward the bed. He sat heavily, bent over so his face nearly touched his knees. “Where’s Quent?”

Good question. She tiptoed out of the bathroom and turned on a nearby light. Ross winced away from the new source of illumination. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. Glancing frequently at him to make certain he didn’t try anything funny, she searched the room. No Quentin.

She did find her belongings. Her luggage was stacked neatly inside a closet and her garments had been draped on hangers or folded and placed in dresser drawers. But she didn’t find anything belonging to her husband. Not a suitcase or a shirt or a hairbrush, nothing. Feeling a rise of panic, she dropped onto a chair and lowered her head between her knees. She breathed deeply until she could think again.

“Dawn?” His eyes were a little clearer. “Do you feel sick, too?”

“Where is my husband? What have you done with him?”

“I didn’t do anything.” He gave his head a shake, and winced. “Feels like two weeks’ worth of bad booze.”

“Get dressed and get out! If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. So you—”

“Quit yelling at me.” He pressed his hands to his ears. “I can’t think.”

Dawn jumped off the chair and rushed to the bed. She tore through the covers around the floor, looking for Ross’s clothing. She didn’t find so much as a sock. “I don’t want you to think. I want you out of here. Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know.” He held out a hand, but she skittered away, putting as much distance between them as possible without actually leaving the room. He groaned and dropped his hand. “Fine. I’ll just march my naked butt across the grounds to the lodge. Everybody will get a big laugh out of that.”

She gazed at the window. The sun was up. “You don’t know where your clothes are? You don’t know where my husband is?”

“No.”

The mournful look he gave her went straight to her heart. Acknowledging his status as a victim did little to calm or assure her. She clutched her knees with shaking hands. “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

“Okay?” He eyed her expectantly. “What?”

“To start with, how did you get in here?”

He turned his attention to the door. Neither the chain nor the security catch were fastened. “I think I got conked on the head.” He lifted a hand to his head and poked around the back of his skull. He winced. “I’ve got a bruise.”

Warily, hoping he was telling a tall tale—the implications of his telling the truth were too horrible to contemplate—she moved to his side. He leaned forward and she examined the back of his head. She found a tender spot and a bump on his scalp.

“Do you think you have a concussion?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I saw a prowler sneaking around the honeymoon cabins. He must have hit me.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, but away from him. Even touching his hair reminded her too vividly of how closely she’d come to unwitting adultery—how much she’d desired him. Even looking at him was dangerous.

“I was helping out Stefan last night. Playing valet and fetching cars for your guests—”

“You were working?”

“I made twenty-eight bucks in tips.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his haggard face. “Anyway, your last guest left around midnight. I was about to turn in when Stefan said he saw someone carrying luggage to the parking lot.”

“Why is that unusual?”

“It’s unusual at midnight when there aren’t any guests checking out. But when I reached the parking lot, I .couldn’t find anybody. It bugged me. Stefan is just a kid, but he doesn’t make things up. He and I hung out in the parking lot for about an hour. I finally sent him to bed, but then I saw somebody on the walkway headed toward the Honeymoon Hideaway.”

She made herself look closely at his face while he spoke. The story had a fishy ring to it, beginning with him helping Stefan fetch cars for the guests. None of this led to an explanation as to where her husband had gone.

“The lights were on inside this cabin. I thought I saw somebody peeking in the window.”

Dawn inhaled sharply. “A peeping Tom?”

“I don’t know for certain,” he added quickly. “The bushes and trees are thick. Shadows are funny. What I really had was a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Call it a hunch.” He averted his gaze. “I was worried about you. The Colonel doesn’t have professional security people. He thinks he can handle any problems himself. So I snooped around.” He touched the back of his head, his expression turned thoughtful. “Somebody hit me.”

He looked much, much better than he had only a few minutes ago. His color was normal and his eyes had cleared. Dawn shook her head in denial. If he’d been struck hard enough to render him unconscious for hours, then he would have a severe concussion. Yet at the moment he didn’t display a single symptom of a head injury.

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

“My husband is missing. You’re not. I’m sorry, Ross, but your story has a few holes in it.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Like the Jesse James suite was the truth? Or what about the white stallion your father caught trying to steal mares from the stable, which turned out to be a valuable circus horse kidnapped for ransom? I believed those tall tales, at first.” She jumped to her feet and paced. The snakes in her belly writhed painfully. “If this is some kind of horrible joke you and Quentin have concocted, it isn’t funny. It will never be funny.”

“Dawn, look at me. Do you see me laughing? Do you see one teeny-tiny ha ha anywhere in this scenario? Yeah, I like a good joke, but I’m not cruel.”

She paused in her pacing and stared miserably at the floor. “Then where is Quentin?”

“I don’t know.” He combed his fingers through his hair and frowned, his gaze distant. “Look around. See if he left a note. A message on the phone. Anything.”

She had already looked, but did so again. Confirming that all of Quentin’s luggage and other belongings were missing only heightened her fear. “Robbers,” she said. “They stole all of Quentin’s belongings and took him hostage. I must call the police.”

“Robbers,” he echoed, making no attempt to soften his skepticism. “I can think of a lot easier things to steal than your husband. Maybe it was Quentin who Stefan saw carrying luggage to the parking lot.”

“Are you saying he deserted me?”

He lowered his face.

“He wouldn’t do that. He loves me. We’re newlyweds!” She rushed to the telephone. “I must call the police. Quentin could be hurt. Oh my God, he’s been kidnapped—”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

She pressed the handset to her breast. “What?”

“I’m in my birthday suit.”

His meaning sank in. A naked man who was not her husband, but inside her honeymoon cabin, might distract investigators. Not to mention the embarrassing scandal it would cause when Ross’s family and the resort employees found out. Her only consolation was that all her guests had returned to Colorado Springs. Deliberately scandalous acts were usually forgiven, but stupidity rarely was. Ending up with the wrong man in her bridal bed reeked of idiocy. She caught her lower lip in her teeth.

The more she considered it, the more Ross’s words rang with truth. This situation was cruel. Not to mention the fact that her valuables weren’t missing. If robbers had invaded the cabin, why wouldn’t they have stolen her wallet and jewelry? She hung up the telephone. “Did you say something to Quentin?”

He drew his head warily aside. “Like what?”

Guilt tangled with her fear. Quentin could have intuited her doubts about the wisdom of their marriage, or worse, somehow sensed her attraction to Ross. Quentin could have punished her by arranging for Ross to end up in her bed.

“About us. Did you say something to make him jealous?”

Her question appeared to offend him. He rose from the bed and straightened the sheet about his waist.

“Answer me.”

“You don’t deserve an answer.”

“You can’t deny you tried to stop me from marrying him.”

“Any aspirin around here?” He headed for the bathroom.

“Answer me!”

He turned her a black scowl. “Yeah, I didn’t want you marrying him. He’s a sleazebag and you’re too good for him. But I didn’t say a word about you to him. I’d never hurt you like that. Not in a million years.”

“If you’re trying to convince me of your nobility, it’s not working. That’s a mean, rotten thing to say about your best friend.”

“Best friend?” He snorted. “I barely know the guy.”

Before she could demand an explanation of what he meant, he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

ROSS EXCHANGED the bulky sheet for a bathrobe. As he tied the belt, he gazed at the Elk River logo embroidered on the robe. Harassing the colonel was a lot of fun, but this mix-up held the potential to give the old man a stroke. Not to mention the harm it might do to Dawn. What a mess.

He cursed himself for not listening to his gut instincts concerning Quentin Bayliss.

Steeling himself, grateful that the fuzziness in his head had abated, he opened the bathroom door.

Dawn was perched on the edge of a chair, her hands clenched in her lap and her feet pressed together on the floor. The Elk River robe swaddled her slim shoulders and the hem pooled around her feet, making her look smaller than she was. Her calm was an illusion. Her big, blue eyes spoke loudly of her pain and fear. For one of the few times in his life, words eluded him.

“I called Janine,” she said.

His mouth fell open.

“I had to call someone.”

He dropped onto a chair. “Why my sister?”

“You’d rather I’d called the Colonel? Janine is bringing clothing for you.” Her chin quivered and her eyes glistened. “I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t know what to tell her. Should I call the police? What shall I tell them?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, not looking forward to confronting Janine. She was almost as hardheaded as the Colonel.

“There must be a reasonable explanation.”

Her quavering voice threatened to break his heart. He didn’t see anything reasonable about any of this. He fingered the half-dollar sized tender bump on the back of his head. He couldn’t figure out how an injury so minor could have knocked him out. Or given him a headache that had temporarily felt like the world’s worst hangover. Since he hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol last night, it made no sense whatsoever.

“Everything has a reasonable explanation,” she said. “With a bit of thought and applied logic, an answer can be found for any mystery.”

Her determined efforts to make sense out of senselessness made his heart ache. “Did you and Quent argue last night? Stefan told me there was some kind of disturbance at the reception.”

She played with her wedding ring. “We didn’t argue. He became a trifle upset when Connie brought Desdemona Hunter to the reception. Her photographer upset Quentin.”

“Desdemona…The name is familiar.”

“She writes the ‘Party Patter’ column in the newspaper. Society news. Quentin didn’t want any reporters covering the wedding. But he wasn’t angry with me. I know he wasn’t. He was perfectly happy when we came to the cabin. He—he carried me over the threshold.” She pressed a fist to her mouth. “I was…intoxicated. Everyone was making toasts. Quentin and I had champagne here, and it proved the final straw. I fell asleep.” She looked away. “I passed out.”

Ross frowned at a champagne bottle on a table. He’d seen the newlyweds leave the lodge last night. Dawn hadn’t been acting as if she were drunk. He went to the table and picked up the champagne bottle. It was nearly full. He checked waste baskets. No other bottles. His nape prickled. “You left the lodge around ten.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you, I was out front helping Stefan with the parking. You didn’t look drunk to me.”

“I was.” Hot color flushed her cheeks and she hunched over, hugging her elbows. “I must have been. The last thing I remember is drinking a glass of champagne. I slept in my wedding dress!”

Ross made an effort to ignore the implication that Dawn and Quent hadn’t consummated their wedding vows. Knowing Quent hadn’t made love to her pleased him too much. But seeing Dawn upset and near panic didn’t please him in the least, so he lifted the champagne bottle to the light, searching for clues.

A knock on the door startled him. He nearly dropped the bottle. Dawn leapt to her feet, shifting her gaze wildly between him and the bed. He recalled vividly the sight of her small, perfect body hovering over him and the feel of her silky skin. Despite his grogginess, he’d been ready and willing to make love to her, and would have if she hadn’t turned on the light.

“Be cool,” he said.

She patted her head. Her hair was damp. “What am I going to say?”

The knocking turned insistent.

“It’s Janine.” He hoped. At the moment he wouldn’t be surprised if Quent, playing a sick game of outraged husband, burst into the cabin.

Before he could suggest she get dressed, Dawn answered the door. Clutching an armload of clothing, his sister stood on the porch. Barely acknowledging Dawn, Janine swept inside and deposited the clothes on the bed. Ross recognized his jeans, a T-shirt and his tuxedo.

Janine turned on him. “What the heck are you pulling now, Ross? What are you doing here? Why was your tux in the bushes? You’ve pulled some bonehead stunts before, but this beats all. Do you have any idea what the Colonel is going to say? And what about Mom?”

Ross backed away from the finger Janine shook in his face. Even though she was two years younger than he, Janine had always acted older. Strong-willed, ambitious, and outspoken, she was their father’s daughter. He wished they were twelve and ten years old again so he could sit on her and make her shut up.

“Pardon me, Janine,” Dawn said. She stood rigidly, holding the neck closed on her robe. “Janine!”

His sister tossed her mane of thick brown hair and gave a start as if just now noticing Dawn.

“Quentin is missing. Ross and I are the victims of a crime.”

“Crime? What kind of crime?”

Ross grabbed his clothing and made a hasty escape into the bathroom. While he dressed in the jeans and T-shirt, he frowned at his tuxedo. Pine straw and bits of bark clung to the black fabric. He frowned, too, at Dawn’s rumpled wedding dress, which hung on a hook on the bathroom door. Someone knocking him out, stripping him naked, tossing his clothing into the bushes then putting him in bed with the bride was too twisted for one of Dawn’s hoped-for reasonable explanations. An explanation existed, but he doubted if it would be reasonable or pleasant.

When he emerged from the bathroom Janine had calmed down considerably. She gave him a suspicious glance, but continued listening to Dawn explain what had happened.

Dawn passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “I want to deny it, but I can’t. Quentin has been kidnapped.”

Janine twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. “You claim you saw a prowler, Ross. Why didn’t you call the Colonel?”

Stung by her skepticism, he said, “I didn’t have a phone.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck.”

“I didn’t have time to call in the SWAT team. It was after one o’clock in the morning when I saw someone headed for the Honeymoon Hideaway. I thought I saw him peeking in the windows. For all I knew it was a pervert checking out the newlyweds. Should I have left him there while I ran back to the lodge?”

Janine reversed the twisting of her hair. “Let me see your head. Dawn says you’re injured.”

He sat so she could examine the back of his skull. Her ministrations weren’t nearly as gentle as Dawn’s had been. “Ow! Watch it.” He pushed her hand away.

“That’s not much of a bump.” Janine grasped his chin, forcing his face up. She peered critically into his eyes. “You look okay to me.”

“Ever consider nursing, Ninny? You’d be a natural.”

“Don’t call me Ninny,” she murmured absently, twisting her hair again.

“Ross was knocked unconscious. I can vouch for that much,” Dawn said. “You haven’t seen Quentin at the lodge?”

Dawn’s hopeful note tugged at him. If Janine hadn’t been here, he’d give in to his urge to offer Dawn a shoulder to cry on.

“I haven’t seen him.” Janine glanced at her wristwatch. “The dining room isn’t open yet. He wasn’t in the lobby drinking coffee, either. I just can’t believe he’s been kidnapped. Is there a ransom note?”

Dawn hung her head. Her shoulders hitched.

Ross stepped between them and gave his sister a pointed look. “Dawn, get dressed. We’ll figure this out.”

As if her joints were made of wood, Dawn gathered clothing from the closet and dresser drawers. When she entered the bathroom and closed the door, Ross turned on his sister.

“Ease up. Can’t you see how upset she is?”

Her blue-gray eyes flashed. “I’m starting to catch on to why.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.” She poked the center of his chest with a rigid finger. “Everybody saw how lovey-dovey the pair of you were last week. Did Quentin catch you playing patty-cake with his blushing bride?”

“Keep your voice down.”

She lowered her voice, but her temper seemed to increase. “Maybe it’s a big joke to you hitting on every woman you meet, but she was engaged. Quentin found out you’d been having an affair with his fiancée, didn’t he?”

Only Janine, who generally spoke first and did damage control later, would have had the guts to say that. But if she said it, then others would be thinking it. His pride was stung. Sister or not, she had no right to accuse him of acting like a creep. “You’re lucky you’re a girl. I’d deck you—”

“Go ahead!” She put up her fists.

Sisters! Not doubting for a moment she’d love a chance to pop him on the nose, Ross clamped his hands on his hips. “Dawn and I aren’t having an affair.”

“Then why did Quentin leave?”

He glanced at the bathroom door. Grasping Janine by the shoulder, he lowered his head until their faces were only inches apart. “Think what you want about me, but don’t you dare say a single word about Dawn. I’m not taking that from you or anybody. Got it?”

“What am I supposed to think? I know what I—”

“Shut up and listen to me. Quent lied to me. He—”

“Lied about what?”

“About her. He told me their marriage was a business deal. Merging two households for tax purposes. A marriage-of-convenience kind of thing. He made her sound like a dried-up old lady, always keeping a sharp eye on the bottom line.”

She began twisting her hair again. “Why would he say that? Every time I spoke to Dawn about the wedding arrangements I got the impression she was madly in love with him.”

He shrugged, growing irritable with confusion. “It was none of my business why they got married. She never said much about Quent, and I didn’t have anything to say about him, either. We never discussed their relationship.”

Janine took a step backward. Her eyes widened. “You actually care about her.”

“I care about a lot of people.” As a dyed-in-the-wool feminist, his sister delighted in ragging him about his Neanderthal attitudes toward women. Usually he delighted in egging her on and teasing her with his false machismo. Her accusing manner now made him realize she actually believed at least some of his self-generated reputation.

“You really care about her.”

“We’re friends, nothing more.”

“Look me straight in the eye,” she ordered. “And tell me you aren’t having an affair with her.”

“I wouldn’t lie about her.”

“You lie to the Colonel all the time.”

“That’s different. He enjoys being disappointed in me. I’m just making him happy.”

“Ross…”

He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Dawn and I aren’t having an affair.”

Janine crossed her arms. “So why did Quentin leave?”

He wished he knew.

Chapter Four

The Duke clan gathered in the resort’s main office. Shunted off to the side, Dawn watched the family. The noise astonished her.

Elise Duke, looking too blond, elegant and young to have four adult children, hovered like an anxious hummingbird around Ross. She poked and prodded his head and peered into his eyes. In the universal maternal gesture, she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you dizzy? Seeing double? Do you have a headache?”

The Colonel posted himself in front of the door. Shoulders back, chin up, he glowered at his son. “State the facts again,” he ordered. “No embellishments. I want to know what you were doing in the honeymoon cabin.”

Behind the desk, Janine sat on her chair. Arms crossed, she shifted her gaze between her brother and father. “He doesn’t have a concussion, Mom,” she said. “Go ahead, call his bluff. Call the paramedics.”

On either side of the desk, Megan and Kara Duke traded stories about Ross as a teenager. Megan said, “Remember when he got caught skinny-dipping?”

Kara laughed and added, “Three girls! What were their names? Debbie Parsons—”

“Not Parsons,” Megan interrupted. “She was Janine’s friend. It was Debbie Calloway. Remember? She started dying her hair in the sixth grade.”

In the middle of all this chaos Ross appeared resigned, as if this sort of fracas were business as usual. How this family functioned when everyone talked at once and nobody paid any attention to anyone else baffled Dawn. In her family communication had been simple: Father had spoken, Dawn and Mother had listened.

A wan, cold sensation gave her gooseflesh and she rubbed her arms. Except the chill came not from the room temperature, but from deep within her soul. Now that the initial shock of Quentin’s disappearance had passed, she felt numb. Witnessing this crew in a free-for-all did nothing to clear her confusion or ease her fear.

She stepped away from a filing cabinet, clearing her throat with a loud, “Ahem.”

“If you saw a prowler,” the Colonel continued grilling Ross, “on the walkway, which is well-lighted, why can’t you describe him? ‘Some guy’ is not a description.”

“Pardon me,” Dawn said.

“Nobody hit you. You tripped and banged your head,” Janine said. “This whole story is fishy. Come clean, Ross. What really happened?”

Noticing a telephone book atop the filing cabinet, Dawn picked it up. Weighing it and her intended action, she decided desperate times called for desperate measures. She whomped the book against the filing cabinet. The resulting bang shut every mouth and turned every eye toward her. Embarrassed, but determined, she replaced the telephone book where she’d found it.

“Pardon me.” She straightened her shoulders. “My husband has been kidnapped. I appreciate very much the way everyone helped me search the grounds for him. As you all can see, he is definitely missing. I should call the police now.”

The Colonel harrumphed. The three sisters exchanged sheepish glances. Elise hurried forward and grasped Dawn’s arm, urging her to sit. Ross gave her a look of unmistakable approval, so warm and focused that for a moment she forgot her situation. Everything centered on his slight smile.

“I agree your husband is MIA,” the Colonel said. “But I do not agree he has been kidnapped. His vehicle is no longer parked in the POV lot. That suggests he is AWOL.”

“Speak English, dear.” Elise patted Dawn’s arm. “Your acronyms are confusing her.”

But Dawn understood the Colonel. Everyone believed Quentin had left on his own. “My car is missing, too.” Her cheeks flushed. At Quentin’s insistence, she had purchased the brand new Lincoln Mark VIII only three weeks ago as an early birthday present for him. It was his car rather than hers, but to have it stolen, leaving her stranded, added insult to injury. “If my husband left of his own volition, he could not have taken both cars.”

“She has you there, Colonel,” Ross said. “Call the sheriff. Let him figure it out.”

“You are not given permission to speak.”

Ross half rose from the chair. Muscles tightened in his jaw and his smile turned thin and tight. The Colonel tensed and his hands curled into fists. The enmity between father and son turned the air electric. Fearing she was about to see them start swinging at each other, Dawn pressed a hand to her mouth.

Ross glanced at her. He dropped back onto the chair.

For a moment the Colonel looked disappointed that Ross refused to fight. “Logistically, given the scenario you present, Mrs. Bayliss, I do not see how it is possible for kidnappers to have accomplished their mission.”

“But we’ll call the sheriff anyway.” Janine picked up the telephone. “This is way too strange, Colonel. Let the sheriff figure it out.” Glaring at her brother as she dialed, she muttered, “If you need to come clean, you’d better do it before the cops arrive.”

Elise took Dawn’s hand. “Come to my office, dear. I have a couch. You can put your feet up. Megan, bring us some coffee.” She looked to her husband again and spoke in a calm, somewhat dreamy voice. “Dear, perhaps it might be a good idea to take one more look around.”

The couple exchanged a significant look, fraught with meaning. Dawn supposed the Dukes were as her parents had been, gifted with a type of mental telepathy developed over many years of marriage. A catch gripped her throat. She and Quentin might never have the chance to develop the art of reading each other’s minds.

Numbly, she allowed Elise to escort her out of the business office, down the hall to the small office where Elise organized receptions, parties and conferences for the resort guests.

“Do forgive my family, dear,” Elise said. “Despite the Colonel’s insistence on strict discipline, my children tend to be willful.” She sounded proud of them for it.

“They are…energetic.” At Elise’s urging, she sat on a camelback love seat.

Ross entered the office and joined Dawn on the love seat. “You’ve got a knack for crowd control. I’m impressed.”

“Uh, dear, perhaps you should leave Mrs. Bayliss alone.”

“Dawn needs me.”

She did need him and that was reason enough to keep as far away from him as possible. She’d come within seconds of committing adultery with him—intentional or not. Having him so near now reminded her of caressing his body and kissing him, and of the fun they’d had last week. The walks in the forest, the countless times he’d reduced her to helpless laughter with his silly tall tales…and how gazing into his eyes made her soul sing, as if with bells. If Quentin had left on his own, then he knew of her attraction to Ross. Accepting Ross’s support now would do little toward soothing Quentin’s jealousy.

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