High Country Hearts. Glynna Kaye

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      “The Millards, right? Your folks mentioned they celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary at the lodge last year.”

      “See what I mean? Singing Rock’s a family tradition.” She caught his furrowed frown and laughed. “You doubt that?”

      “What’s Singing Rock doing to attract the Millards’ grandkids? Great-grandkids?”

      Pride swelled. “Exactly what we’ve always done. Opening our hearts—and our cabins—to share genuine high country hospitality.”

      Rob braced an arm on a porch support post. “Don’t get me wrong. I understand and appreciate that sentiment. But unfortunately, that doesn’t cut it in today’s market. A lot of people are looking to have their days scheduled with diverse activities. Add to that a growing desire for more amenities. Conveniences. Luxuries even.”

      “Like cable TV and free internet access? A gourmet coffee shop on site?” She shook her head. It looked like she had a lot to do yet to educate Rob. “Mom and Dad pride themselves on limiting the influence of that kind of thing. They believe you should be your own entertainment.”

      “But those kinds of people aren’t keeping the cabins full, now are they?”

      Why was he being so obstinate?

      “Maybe not in this economic slump. But that’s the whole reason people come to Singing Rock.” She motioned toward the captivating view from the porch. “They’d rather commune with God and nature than sit in front of an electronic screen of some variety. They want to get themselves and their kids away from all-consuming technology and flee the stuff that causes them stress on a daily basis. The place that delivers on that promise is Singing Rock.”

      Rob tilted his head. “A good cup of coffee causes stress?”

      “A good cup of coffee doesn’t have to cost five or six bucks a pop. That does cause stress.” She studied him a long moment, an uneasiness floating around the edges of her mind. She folded her arms. “You’re not thinking of trying to talk my folks into that kind of junk are you? I can tell you right now it won’t fly.”

      “Coffee shop? No way. But it’s your parents who asked me to evaluate how Singing Rock can be brought into the twenty-first century. As I’m sure you’re already aware, business sagged notably the past few years.”

      “That’s due to a general dip in the economy.” Or had Mom and Dad suffered a financial blow? Was that what Paulette meant when she referred to the future of Singing Rock being on the line? “Everyone’s taking a hit, right?”

      “The Evergreen property up the road is holding its own, staying filled. Each unit has internet, wide-screen TV. They offer a pool, tennis court, exercise room, buffet breakfast—”

      With a laugh she held up a restraining hand. “Wait, wait, wait. Kyle Marsh’s place? Are you kidding me? That condo kingdom that comes complete with cute garages so the sports cars won’t get coated with pine pollen or spotted with sticky ponderosa sap? You can’t compare our place to his.”

      “Why not? He’s the competition.”

      She placed her hands on her hips, but kept her smile steady. “No, he’s not. Kyle wouldn’t know a trout from a goldfish. A canoe from a surfboard. And his upscale clientele couldn’t care less about that type of thing, either. That’s not the crowd Singing Rock caters to.”

      “Maybe not currently, but—”

      “There are already enough places to accommodate that other demographic. The heart of the high country is in the outdoors—fishing, hiking, stargazing. Sing-a-alongs and marshmallow roasts around a campfire.”

      She shook her head, struggling not to laugh again. “Look, Rob, I assure you, Kyle’s place isn’t what Mom and Dad were alluding to when they asked you for recommendations. They’ll expect estimates on a redo of the sand volleyball lot, digging new fire pits, re-rocking the parking areas or replacing worn-out porch furniture. Do you have any idea what internal turmoil they went through before deciding it would be acceptable to put microwaves in the cabins? To build a website?”

      He frowned. Again.

      “So,” she said, before he could sing more praises of neighboring Evergreen. Her folks would faint dead away. “Should we take a look at this piece of artwork you called about?”

      His mouth set in a grim line, Rob pushed open the glass-paned wooden door and motioned her inside. The faint, comforting scent of wood smoke and cinnamon greeted them as they stepped onto the hardwood floors of the shadowed interior. It took a moment for her daylight-accustomed eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings. But there was no mistaking the colorful scrawl across the cream-colored wall inside the entryway.

      “NO MORE,” it proclaimed in three-foot-high letters.

      “No more what?” While concerned about the defacement of the charming space and the effort it would take to remedy the perpetrator’s handiwork, a rush of relief flooded her. “I thought you said my name figured into this.”

      Rob came from behind and gripped her shoulders, turning her to the left. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

      DIAZ. With a bright crimson slash through it.

      “That may be my last name,” she protested with a shot of apprehension as Rob released her. “But this doesn’t have anything to do with me. Did you call the deputy again?”

      Rob stepped back, gazing at the wall with a critical eye. “Not yet.”

      “But you’re going to, right?”

      He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, a weary gesture. “It will delay getting the place repainted. I have guests for this unit arriving Friday afternoon.”

      Should she override his decision and make the call to law enforcement herself? Was it wise to challenge Rob’s authority so early in their renewed acquaintance? What if he told Paulette?

      “Shouldn’t we get this on record? It isn’t a random act if someone knows my parents’ name. It’s like a personal threat.”

      He met her gaze, continuing to massage his neck. “More like a major irritant. But as I told the deputy this morning, I suspect what’s been going on is a calling card left by the environmentally-minded kids I had a run-in with the first week I got here. They were well-intentioned high schoolers, up from Phoenix for the summer, would be my guess. Took exception to a tree-thinning project your folks have going along the highway side of the property to lower the risk of a major fire.”

      “Wouldn’t they be back in school by now?”

      “Not if they go to a private one. You know, an independent. Lots of those around these days that don’t start until after Labor Day. But if that’s the case, we should be rid of them after this weekend.”

      “Can’t you have them arrested?”

      “I didn’t recognize them as kids staying here, and they’ve kept themselves scarce since I warned them off.” He squared his shoulders. “But I can’t afford to lose out on the weekend’s revenue by delaying repairs. In studying the СКАЧАТЬ