Isabel Sharpe – All I Want... (страница 10)

There was a gas fireplace on the right, at the foot of the king-size bed. On a table to the left sat a potted miniature Christmas tree, three wrapped fresh-looking blueberry muffins, boxes of cold cereal and—thank goodness—a coffeepot with several packs of good coffee and tiny tubs of half-and-half. A mini refrigerator held glass bottles of premium orange juice and single-serving cartons of milk. The spotless bathroom had a large tub and a small basket with shampoo, conditioner and lotion.

Not half bad for less than fifty dollars a night. Very nice, in fact.

But unless she had less than the sense she was born with, no thermostat. No heating unit against the wall. So the fireplace must be it. How cozy. And romantic! She swooped over to it and searched for the controls. Exactly the warming touch the room needed, figuratively and literally.

Except, after a good half hour of frustrated attempts, finally using the last match in the box she’d dug out of her purse, she couldn’t get the damn thing to work. As far as she could tell, no gas was flowing at all.

She picked up the room phone and left a message with the office, though chances were with the storm raging, no one would be making the rounds tonight.

Irritation.

Thank God it was in the thirties and not single digits. She’d brought her new warm flannel nightgown instead of the one washed thin, and in a king bed the blankets could be doubled over onto one side. For internal heat, the coffeemaker could make decaf, and she always had herbal-tea packets in her purse.

She’d be okay. This would be an adventure, in fact. Right? Her article would be funny and charming. Single woman’s attempt to stay warm on lonely night in romantic cabin.

Very lonely.

She changed into her nightgown and brushed her teeth, starting to shiver. Except for the occasional wind gust or creaking branch, the silence was absolute—that particular dead silence of a snowy evening. Even cities grew quiet, muffled, when the lovely white blanket dropped. Though here, instead of cars picking their way cautiously through the snow, she could all too easily picture moose and bear nosing around the cabin in the darkness.

Gulp. Good thing she slept with earplugs or she’d imagine the great beasts pawing and snuffling to get in no matter what she heard.

Of course, bears and moose sounded pretty tame once you started imagining forest-dwelling psychos investigating apparently deserted hotels. Drunk. High. Armed.

Not going to think about that.

Not.

She slid into bed, unwilling to stay out in the chill long enough to do her Yoga routine—it was hard to relax when your teeth were chattering. The sheets were icy at first, but gradually her body heat and the huge pile of blankets started a slow, lovely thaw, which changed the icebox into a deliciously warm cocoon. Better with company, but mmm, nice. Maybe she’d start turning off the radiators in her apartment at night, too. Maybe that article would come out just fine.

She yawned and blinked a few times, then closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind, fill it with peace and calm and warm golden light instead of pImages** of the vast woods around her and things that go bump in the night and the fact that no one could hear her scream.

Mostly she’d keep at bay the fact that during this off-the-beaten-track romantic getaway research trip, she had absolutely no hope of romance.

4

HE SHOULD BE FURIOUS.

Seth Wellington IV should be ragingly furious. He should be railing at Aimee, cursing Juice, hauling out his cell to hurl orders at his secretary, Sheila, and generally making life miserable for as many people as possible, which was what pissed-off CEOs were best at.

Most of all he should be annoyed at himself for wasting time going on this ridiculous wild-goose chase into the middle of absolutely freaking nowhere in a blinding snowstorm when he had about a million other things he should be doing.

Instead he was loving it. The perfect errand for a man who must be every kind of fool to be on it.

The second he’d crossed the bridge into Maine, leaving behind beautiful but industrial Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and entered the vast peaceful expanse of pine forest, he’d known he’d been away too damn long. Maine never failed to feed his soul. And judging from the way he’d rolled down his windows and gleefully gulped familiar lungfuls of the cold, damp, pine-scented air, his soul had been starving.

That it was insanity to go on this trip he didn’t question. That he felt saner than he had in way too long was something that needed closer inspection….

When he wasn’t trying so hard to stay on the road.

Krista hadn’t been kidding about the off-the-beaten-track part. He’d been to Skowhegan before, to the state fair, but not beyond the town. His travels in Maine had been primarily coastal. He’d stayed way up the coast near the Canadian border a whole summer, longer than he’d stayed anywhere else on his trip. The life, the smells, the atmosphere, the old man he’d gotten to know better than anyone during his year-plus of travel, all had found a place in his heart and all had been nearly forgotten until his return today.

But, of course, this time he was, as always, operating on short notice and a tight schedule. The whole way from Boston he’d kept an eye out for Juice’s hideously over-detailed red Camaro and come up empty—not that he thought it likely he’d find that needle in this highway haystack. Seth had called Aimee several time to see if she’d heard anything, but Her Poutiness refused to take his call.

And Sheila wondered why he didn’t like dealing with his stepsister any more than he had to?

He found a gap in the woods that fit the description of the road the inn owners told him to look for and took the turn slowly, following the flat white track through the trees, which theoretically would lead him to the Pine Tree Inn. He damn well hoped so. The gas in his car would get him back to Skowhegan to fill up in the morning but not a hell of a lot farther. He couldn’t afford to be wandering lost in the Maine woods.

The thought startled him. Since when? Years back he would have relished such an adventure. If he’d run out of gas, he would have slept in his car or found a way to make a shelter and find food, thrilled at being so directly in touch with basic survival instincts. Times like that brought a man closer to the essence of being human.

Hint: It had nothing to do with corporate merchandising.

So he’d grown soft again.

Well that was life. When you were sure fate would lead in the direction you needed to go to learn the most, it took a sharp U-turn and taught you something else. This trip tonight had made him realize all the more how far he’d strayed from the person he thought he’d become. Chasing after Aimee’s screwup had already managed to be a lot more worthwhile than he’d expected—and there was still more to come.

Though he really didn’t want to arrive at the inn and find Juice there causing Krista any trouble. Unfortunately since Juice had a head start on both Seth and the snow, that was the most likely scenario. Then what? At worst, confrontation or hostility from Juice. Confrontation and hostility from Krista was probably given, but he had more confidence in his ability to handle her. Seth was no wimp, but Juice was…enormous. And as a bodyguard, probably trained in violent confrontation. Comforting thought.

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