man was trying to butter him up; he must know Rider had been the one who had made the final changes on the plans and equipment list for the small schoolhouse.
“The man’s a bit manic about education,” Rider said, referring to the passion all of Josh’s people knew about.
“It keeps people happy, being able to work here and keep their kids with them.”
“And Redstone likes happy people,” Rider intoned, quoting the mantra that they all laughed at but lived by, knowing that as far as employers went they were with one of the best. The formula Josh had stuck to for years still worked; he hired top-notch people, paid them well and let them run.
Rider found his way to the dining room as easily as he’d hoped. It was nearly full; the staff would eat at different times, so it would rarely be this packed again. Rider declined Barry’s offer to introduce him to the gathered crowd, many of whom had noticed their entrance and suspended conversation.
“I don’t want this to be that formal,” he explained. “I’m not the boss checking up on the employees.”
Barry nodded. “Here’s the roster,” he said, handing Rider a small sheaf of papers. “And your master cardkey.” Rider took the papers and slipped the key into a pocket; he knew the key, which would override any lock in the resort, was the symbol that the project manager considered all parts of the hotel ready for official inspection. It had become a tradition of sorts, and Rider knew that as long as he got that key within eight hours of his arrival, chances were things would be okay.
He stepped up to the small podium. It didn’t take long for the silence to spread. When they were all watching him he said, “I’m Noah Rider, the project coordinator, and I’m here to tell you if you don’t like the uniforms, it’s too late.”
Laughter rippled through the room, as he’d hoped it would; they’d all had a chance to give their input and vote on what the uniforms should be.
“I haven’t had much time to look around yet,” he went on, “but what I can see looks good. That’s not to say there aren’t some problems, there always are. That’s what I’m here to help with. But everything’s coming together nicely, you’ve all obviously done your jobs well, and Redstone Bay is lucky to have you.”
A burst of cheers and whistles greeted that.
“That said, anyone have any problems that need to be dealt with before opening day?”
“We need a new movie service,” somebody called out. “This one just runs the same old stuff over and over.”
Rider grinned. “Just so happens I brought along a really big satellite dish. Anybody know how to set one of those puppies up?”
Laughter and cheers met that as well. When no other complaints arose, he nodded in satisfaction.
On some other level of his mind, beneath the part that was handling the speaking task, he registered that there was a redhead in the back row. She snagged his attention, as any woman with hair of that particular rich, autumn-leaves shade did. Even after five years.
It wasn’t that he thought about it a lot. It was not, after all, his finest hour, and he didn’t like dwelling on it. In fact, in a life that held few regrets, that one woman stood as an eternal torch of reproach.
He shook off the memory and began again, scanning the room, trying to make eye contact with everyone. “I hope to meet with you all over the next ten days, and I want you to feel free to bring up anything you want. Some of the best ideas come from you, out on the front line, and that’s what I’m here for.”
It was a motivational statement, Rider knew, but it was also true, and Redstone believed in it. And the staff responded, nodding as they turned and glanced at each other. There was a reason Redstone was consistently in the top ten on lists of best places to work.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s business or personal, I—”
Rider was only vaguely aware he’d stopped talking. Or that he was staring. A beefy, broad-shouldered man had shifted in his seat, giving Rider a full view of the woman with the coppery hair.
It can’t be.
She sat there at the very back table, staring down at folders in front of her. He silently urged her to look up, to face him so he could be sure. But she didn’t. Or wouldn’t. And he was sure, anyway. He knew he couldn’t mistake the long, thick braid of hair, the line of her cheekbones, the tilt of her nose. He knew if she looked up, her eyes would be that rich, cinnamon-brown. He knew it.
But it can’t be.
He lifted the now-forgotten page of statistics and grabbed at the personnel roster Barry had given him. He scanned it quickly and let out a sigh of relief; her name wasn’t there. It was a fluke, just a resemblance. He’d reacted out of guilt, that’s all.
Steady again, he moved to slip the roster back beneath his page of notes. It snagged on something, and he reached to free it from the small piece of paper stapled to the back of the roster.
He glimpsed the last few words on the note before his page pulled clear. He grabbed at it, tearing it loose from the staple. And there it was, immutable and real. The news that the teacher had arrived nearly a month ago to get the island school up and running before the opening. The teacher. Paige Cooper.
He’d hoped never to see her again. He’d hungered to see her again. He’d never resolved the contradiction. And now the contradiction was sitting in front of him.
The only woman who had ever made him throw whatever decency and common sense he had out the window.
The only woman who could shame him with just a look.
The only woman who had ever made him ache for her in so many ways he couldn’t even count them all.
Paige Cooper, sitting there, refusing to look at him, reminding him all the more of what he’d done the last time he’d seen her. He remembered his earlier assessment, and decided he must have really ticked off whatever god was in charge of his fate at the moment.
The ship he’d thought was going to have a smooth sailing had just encountered a reef.
Chapter 2
He had a roomful of people staring at him, and Rider couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been going to say. He wasn’t at a total loss often enough to have learned how to deal with it well, so he knew he was fumbling now. He took refuge in the numbers and details he could spout without thought and began the rundown while his mind raced.
He shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was a very Joshua-like thing to do, to hire the widow of one of his people. Especially since Phil Cooper had been killed while working for Redstone. Even though the man hadn’t been one of Redstone’s hires originally—he’d been a vice president of a purchased company—Josh didn’t make a habit of wholesale firings at new acquisitions.
I would have fired him, Rider thought, anger spiking even after all this time. But he knew his feelings were biased. The Redstone investigation into Cooper’s death had been, as usual, thorough and deep. In fact, the deepest one he’d ever seen, because the plane had been brought down over Portugal by a terrorist bomb. After five years they still didn’t know exactly who had done it, they’d
