hurried to join them. “Enough,” she scolded Phantom. “Sorry,” she said to John. “He’s trained not to bark much inside, but the outdoors is fair game.” She knelt and gathered the pup to her. Only then did he stop barking. Instead, he struggled in Alexa’s grasp, turning in her arms to slurp at her chin with his long tongue. Alexa laughed, then stood.
“I didn’t mean to get his dander up.”
John rose, too. His white T-shirt hugged every bulge of his well-formed chest. Alexa pretended not to stare at John but at his shirt. It had an outline of a mountain on it, and the logo read Skytop Lake. Reach for the Stars.
She wanted to reach for him. Especially with the way his deep brown eyes moved down her appreciatively, obviously taking in the fact that she, too, wore a T-shirt. Hers was over shorts, and his gaze lingered on her legs.
His eyes returned to her face, and she looked away quickly, ignoring the oozing warmth spreading through her, a heat that had nothing to do with summer in the mountains.
“He thinks he’s a watchdog,” Alexa said quickly, bending down to take Phantom’s collar. She was curious as to what John was doing here, practically standing in the flower bed, but figured he was a paying guest and had the right to be anywhere on the grounds he wanted—or at least any public place. “If you were heading for the lake, there’s a paved path on the other side of the house.”
“I know. I went there at sunrise this morning to jog beside the lake.”
“You’d said that was why you wanted to be here,” Alexa acknowledged. She pictured this large man clad in a similar outfit to what he was wearing now, muscles straining as he ran. Sweat would bead on John, for even at dawn the summer air would be warm and humid.
She recalled how Cole had looked after an early-morning run here: damp and well-toned and as sexy as sin. She swallowed. Stop thinking of Cole, she ordered herself. But she might as well tell her lungs to stop breathing.
“I’m out here now because I can’t resist an opportunity,” John said.
“For what?”
“To pitch home improvements. Your inn is great. I love the chalet style. But did you realize it could use a coat of paint?”
Alexa nearly choked. This guy really was a home improvements salesman. No matter how good he looked, no matter how much he knew about tree trivia, he wasn’t Cole.
Cole had been in the military. He’d had a can-do attitude. He wouldn’t have told her that the inn needed paint. He’d have bought buckets and brushes and begun painting.
When she had been here with Cole, this place had needed more than a coat of paint, but it hadn’t belonged to her.
“I’m aware it needs a little work,” she answered dryly. Vane and she had fixed it up when they had first bought it a year-and-a-half ago. Had kept it up, too—for a while.
Then Vane had lost interest in the inn, at least as anything other than a place to further his scheme. He discouraged Alexa from spending money on it.
“Actually,” she continued, hearing the defiance in her tone, “I plan to paint it at the end of the summer.” She wasn’t certain where that had come from. This place was hers, even if Vane was her partner.
But the likelihood was that to survive, she would have to leave it behind.
“Maybe I can come back and help,” John said. “I enjoy painting. But this place is really nice. Have you ever considered expanding? Opening a chain of hotels?”
Alexa felt herself blanch. She stared at John. Did he know who she was? Who her parents were? Or was it an innocent enquiry?
“My family used to own a hotel chain,” she said. “It got too…unmanageable. They’re down to one now, in Arizona. I want to keep things simple, too.” If only they were simple.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” John took a step toward her. “Alexa, I still get the feeling that there’s something wrong. If you ever want a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got two I can lend.”
Two very broad, substantial shoulders. And, heavens, how much Alexa wanted to take him up on his offer. Her eyes moistened. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for a long, long time.
But she caught herself. Almost laughed aloud. This was a very nice man. Kind and compassionate, a people person by profession.
But she could not lean on anyone.
And care for someone? She nearly snorted aloud. She had cared for Cole—deeply—and he had died. She had allowed herself to care, just a little, for Vane, and he had proven to be a monster.
“Thanks,” she said brightly. “I’ll remember that.”
Phantom suddenly stood at attention. Alexa looked in the direction of his gaze. Toward the lake.
Minos Flaherty stood on their dock. He was back, damn it.
What was worse, he was staring straight at them. Vane would get a report.
And Alexa was certain she would pay for this very brief, very innocent, interlude with the kind and sexy John O’Rourke. At best, he might threaten her parents again. At worst, he would harm them, or her…or both.
COLE DID NOT FOLLOW ALEXA into the house right away. He watched as Minos Flaherty strode up the grassy slope directly toward him.
Cole didn’t like the guy. Didn’t trust him.
But John O’Rourke liked everyone. And so, Cole plastered a welcoming smile on his face. “Hi,” he called.
The short man didn’t return the smile. He just nodded. He seemed to be sizing John up. He didn’t appear impressed.
That made Cole want to have some fun at the truncated thug’s expense. He pointed up toward the house. “Are you the handyman here? You might want to recommend a new paint job. I was just discussing it with Alexa.”
Startled, he realized he was behaving as if Alexa had needed an excuse to be with him. As if she needed protection.
But that was ridiculous. She had to be part of the plot.
“I’ll tell Vane you said so.” Minos glanced toward the structure looming beside him and grimaced, as though the thought of fixing it up gave him ulcers.
“Thanks. And if you want any other suggestions about improvements—” He didn’t get to finish, as Minos disappeared behind the inn.
Cole stifled his laugh. He walked toward the B & B’s front entrance and went in.
His laughter turned to bitter bile as he saw Alexa held tightly at Vane Walters’s side. They stood by the inn’s registration desk. Phantom explored the adjoining parlor, his nose to the rug.
Vane was talking with some of the guests, a middle-aged couple who had been at the far side of the room at dinner the previous night. He turned toward Cole. “Oh, Mr. O’Rourke,” he said. “Do you know this area well? I was just telling the Smiths, here, about Skytop Lake Village.”
“I
