Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ She pulled out her wallet and opened it, felt her heart sink as she remembered most of her money was in francs, which obviously wasn’t going to help her now. She counted what usable money she had, then tentatively laid out the amount that the desk clerk had entered on the printed card. If she was very, very careful, she might last two or three days before she ran out of cash.

      Mattie stared at the bills Kiera had so carefully and reluctantly counted out, then looked up again. Kiera shifted uncomfortably when the other woman studied her face.

      “Husband or boyfriend?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Honey, I know it ain’t none of my beeswax,” Mattie stated flatly. “But it’s hard not to notice that shiner you got there.”

      Instinctively, Kiera reached up and pulled her hair forward. So much for makeup. “No—I— It’s not like that. I fell off a horse.”

      Sympathy softened the harsh edges of Mattie’s eyes. “Like I said, it’s none of my beeswax. But a woman comes into my motel late at night, alone, looking like she’s been chewed up and spit out, and I can’t help it, it’s my Christian duty to ask.”

      Do I really look that bad? Kiera thought, biting her lip. She glanced down at her rumpled clothes, knew her eyes were probably still red from crying, and she realized that she did look that bad.

      “If you need an ear or a shoulder …” Mattie went on “ … I know a few things about men. I hear there’s a few good ones around, but, honey, my experience is most of them are asses.”

      At the moment, Kiera might tend to agree with that assessment but decided against encouraging the topic. “If I could just get my key.”

      “Sure.” Mattie shrugged a shoulder, dropped the money into a drawer, then held out a key. “Room 107.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You know,” the desk clerk said when Kiera turned. “If you decide to stick around for a while and need a job, they’re hiring at the hotel in town.”

      “Thank you, but—”

      “I could put a good word in for you,” Mattie offered. “My sister, Janet, is head of human resources. I’m sure she could find a spot for you.”

      “I’m really not—”

      “You don’t even have to have any experience,” Mattie continued. “They got all kinds of jobs open since they expanded. Between conventions and conferences and the new wedding chapel, the place is packed most of the time. I hear the new owner, Clair Blackhawk is great to work for.”

       Blackhawk?

      The name sucked the breath out of Kiera’s lungs. She stared at the desk clerk, had to swallow before she managed a weak reply. “Blackhawk?”

      “Well, that was her name, but she got married a few weeks ago, so I’m not sure what her last name is now. Oh, wait—” Mattie snapped her fingers “—it’s Carver. Clair Carver.”

      With her heart clamoring so loudly, it was hard for Kiera to concentrate. The name Carver meant nothing to her. But Blackhawk … God, was it possible? It was all she could do not to grab the desk clerk’s arm, ask her point-blank if—”

      “You okay, honey?”

      Kiera blinked, watched Mattie’s face come back into focus. “What?”

      “You look a little pale. You feelin’ okay?”

      “It’s just been a long day.” The longest of my life, she thought, and forced a smile. “I appreciate your concern, but, really, I’ll be fine.”

      Mattie nodded. “You’re the last room on the left, just past the ice and vending machines. You need anything, just give me a call.”

      “Thanks.”

      Knees shaking, Kiera turned and walked back to her car. She wasn’t certain how long she sat there, dazed, staring blankly into the deep shadows of the poplars edging the motel. As a child, she’d always been afraid of the dark, knew that ferocious monsters lived there, waiting to swallow children whole.

      At twenty-five, maybe she was still a little afraid of the dark, she realized.

      When she walked back into the motel office, Mattie glanced up from the TV.

      Kiera closed the door behind her. “About that job …”

      When Sam Prescott made his morning rounds through the lobby of the Four Winds Hotel, bellmen straightened their shoulders, desk clerks smiled brighter, valets hustled. The entire staff of Wolf River County’s largest and most luxurious hotel knew that nothing slipped past the general manager’s penetrating gaze. The white marble floors and vast expanse of glass windows had better sparkle, the chic black uniforms be crisp, the massive floral arrangements fresh.

      The sharp, sculpted planes of Sam’s face and the hard angle of his jaw played well with his thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. It was a combination that made grown women sigh and young girls giggle. Even with his football player’s chest and lean waist, Sam’s six-foot-four inch frame wore Armani well.

      A few lucky women knew he wore nothing at all even better.

      Joseph McFearson, the Four Winds doorman, tipped his hat when Sam approached. “Mornin’, Mr. Prescott.”

      “Mornin’, Joseph.” Joseph was one of the few employees whose height—and eyes—directly met Sam’s. “How’s Isabel?”

      “On a rampage our boys don’t call more often,” Joseph groused. “Says they got their father’s cold heart.”

      Sam grinned. Everyone knew Joseph had a heart of gold, just as everyone knew that his wife adored him. “Give her my best.”

      “Will do.” Joseph nodded, then added when Sam walked by, “Call your mother.”

      I probably should, Sam thought, realizing he hadn’t talked to her for a while. Maybe he’d just send flowers. Last time he’d called her, all he’d heard was, “Samuel, you’re thirty-two years old, when are you going to stop living in hotels and give me more grandchildren?”

      “Soon as I meet a girl like you,” he’d say to placate her. He had no intention of changing his bachelor status any time soon, but he knew his mother needed hope, so he gave her that much.

      His rounds complete, Sam stepped into a mirrored elevator, noted the quiet, instrumental version of McCartney’s “Band On the Run” playing overhead. He had a ten o’clock briefing with Clair, an eleven-thirty lunch meeting with the publicist for the Central Texas Cattlemen’s Association, then a two o’clock appointment with the city council and the Department of Building and Safety. The Four Winds had already outgrown its original tower, and the proposal for a second, taller tower and conference center had been submitted two weeks ago.

      The elevator doors had nearly closed when a hand slipped in to stop them. Long, slim fingers, no rings, short but neat unpolished nails. Automatically, he pushed the open door button.

      “Sorry,” СКАЧАТЬ