The Case Of The Vainshed Groom. Sheryl Lynn

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      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?”

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