personal life. Sensible and calm and rational. Anything else would just blow up in her face—she was sure of it.
THE REST OF CHARITY’S work week passed quickly. She met more of the city council members—all women—and familiarized herself with ongoing development projects. Sheryl left at four-thirty nearly every day, but Charity worked later. On Thursday, she stayed until nearly seven, when her stomach growled loudly enough to break her concentration. She glanced out her window and was surprised to see that it was dark.
After shutting down her shiny new computer, she collected her handbag, a briefcase filled with files she would review after she had dinner, and left.
The building was quiet and a little spooky. She walked quickly out onto the street where a cool breeze made her wish for a slightly thicker coat. The coldest day of winter in Henderson, a suburb of Las Vegas, had been warmer than this early-spring evening in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada.
Fortunately, the hotel was only a couple of blocks away. Charity hurried along the sidewalk. When she reached the corner, she saw an old man sweeping the front steps of the bookshop she’d already visited at lunch. He nodded at her, then paused.
“Now, I don’t know you,” he said, squinting at her in the light from the streetlamp. “Do I?”
His tone was friendly. She smiled.
“I’m Charity Jones, the new city planner.”
“Are you now? You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? All young ladies are pretty, even the ones that aren’t.” He chuckled then gave a wheezy cough. “I’m Morgan. Just Morgan. This is my bookstore.”
“Oh. It’s wonderful. I’ve already shopped here twice.”
“I must have missed you. Next time we’ll talk. You tell me what you like to read and I’ll make sure it’s in stock.”
Talk about small-town service, she thought, delighted. “Thank you. That’s very nice.”
“My pleasure. You know your way home?”
“I’m staying at Ronan’s Lodge.”
“That’s just down two blocks. I’ll stand here and make sure you make it. You turn back and give me a wave when you reach the steps.”
His offer was unexpected. She wasn’t worried about anything happening between here and the hotel, but it was nice to know that someone would notice if it did.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re very kind.”
He winked at her. “I’ve been called a lot of different things, Charity, but I’ll accept kind. You have yourself a nice night.”
“I will.”
She walked the rest of the way to the hotel. Once she reached the steps leading to the lobby, she turned back. Morgan was watching. She gave a wave and he raised his hand in return. Then he went back to sweeping.
She was going to like it here, she decided. While every place had its quirks, there was a lot to appreciate in Fool’s Gold.
She paused before pushing through the double doors leading to the inside of the hotel. They were large and heavily carved, the workmanship from another era.
Ronan’s Lodge, also known as Ronan’s Folly, was a huge hotel on the edge of the lake. It had been built when gold flowed like the rivers the men panned it from. Ronan McGee, an Irish immigrant, had come west to make his fortune, then he’d spent much of what he’d earned to create the hotel.
Charity had read its history the last time she’d been in town. She’d been unable to sleep the night before her interview and had read all the tourist brochures in her room.
Now, as she walked into the large lobby, with the carved wood panels on the walls and the massive imported chandelier made of Irish crystal, she felt a sense of homecoming. Eventually she would buy a house and settle in to life in Fool’s Gold, but Ronan’s Lodge was the best kind of temporary housing.
She walked past the registration desk, toward the curved staircase that would take her to the second floor. From there a smaller staircase wound up to the third floor, where she had a small suite.
She’d barely put her hand on the banister, had yet to take even that first step, when someone spoke. The voice came from behind her and spoke only a single word.
“Hello.”
She didn’t have to look to know who was talking. All she had to do was stand there, feeling her heart race uncontrollably in her chest as heat and awareness flooded her.
Her week had begun with a Josh Golden invasion and it seemed it would end that way, as well. The only question she had as she braced herself before turning to face him was why, of all the men in all the world, it had to be him.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARITY TURNED TO find Josh standing next to her in the lobby. He was just as tall as she remembered, his tousled hair looking more gold than blond in the flattering light. His hazel-green eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as his mouth curved up in an easy smile. He was very possibly the best-looking man she’d ever seen in person. And hey, she’d seen his naked butt again just a few hours earlier. Talk about making it difficult to concentrate.
“I’m Josh,” he said. “We met in the mayor’s office.”
She nearly choked on a laugh. As if she would forget. “Yes,” she said, hoping she sounded calm and completely unaffected by his presence. “Earlier this week. You took over my meeting, then closed the deal. I remember.”
“You’re not pissed about that, are you?”
She was many things—confused about why her body had to react to him the way it did. Annoyed that he’d had access to information she couldn’t get and had therefore done a better job than her at the presentation. Hungry and tired. But she wasn’t pissed.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “We needed to get the university to sign and that’s what happened. I should probably thank you.”
She paused, hoping he would excuse himself to get back to whatever…or whoever…brought him to the hotel. Instead he continued to look at her.
She tried not to feel his gaze, or react to it. A task that took way more effort than it should have.
After a few seconds of staring at him and watching him stare back, she said, “I don’t want to keep you from your evening.”
“You’re not.” He pointed to the stairs. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Climb. We’re neighbors. You’re 301, and I’m 303.”
He put his hand on the small of her back, as if to guide her up the stairs. Instinctively, she moved with the pressure, refusing to acknowledge the bolts of electricity zigging and zagging in every direction. There was heat radiating from each of his fingers—a heat that made her desperately long for bare skin on skin, an unused closet and
