she’d harped about her ruined vacation plans.
She should just let the resentment go. Mexico wasn’t going anywhere. She’d go another time, that was all. And the money from this off-season booking would come in handy come summer, when repairs to the house would need to be undertaken.
The marshal was a guest here and it was her job to make him feel welcome. Even if she had her doubts. A cop, of all people. He was probably rigid and scheduled and had no sense of humor.
Letting out a breath and pasting on her smile, she went to the door and opened it before he had a chance to ring the bell.
“Welcome to Mountain Haven Bed and Breakfast,” she got out, but the rest of the words of her rehearsed greeting flew out of her head as she stared a long way up into blue-green eyes.
“Thank you.” His lips moved above a gray and black parka that was zipped precisely to the top. “I know it’s off-season, and I appreciate your willingness to open for me. I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you.”
It was a struggle to keep her mouth from dropping open, to keep the welcome smile curving her lips. His introductory speech had locked her gaze on his face and she was staggered. She’d be spending the next three weeks with this man? In an otherwise empty bed and breakfast? Jennifer would only be here another few days, and then it was back to school. It would be just the two of them.
What had started out as an annoying business necessity was now curled with intimacy. He was, very possibly, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Even bundled in winter gear she sensed his lean, strong build, the way he carried his body. With purpose and intent. His voice was smooth with just a hint of gravel, giving it a rumbling texture; the well-shaped lips unsmiling despite his polite speech. And he had killer eyes…eyes that gleamed brilliantly in contrast to his dark clothing.
“I am in the right place, aren’t I?” He turned his head and looked at the truck, then back at her, frowning a bit as she remained stupidly silent.
Pull yourself together, she told herself. She stepped back, opening the door wider to welcome him in. “If you’re Nathaniel Griffith, you’re in the right place.”
He smiled finally, a quick upturn of the lips, and exhaled, a cloud forming in the frigid air. “That’s a relief. I was afraid I’d gotten lost. And please—” he pulled off his glove and held out his hand “—call me Nate. I only get called Nathaniel when I’m in trouble with my boss or my mother.”
She smiled back, genuinely this time, as she shook his hand. It was warm and firm and enveloped her smaller fingers completely. She couldn’t imagine him in trouble for anything. He looked like Mr. All-American.
“I’m Maggie Taylor, the owner. Please, come in. I’ll show you your room and get you familiar with the place.”
“I’ll just get my bags,” he said, stepping back outside the door.
He jogged to the truck, reaching into the back seat for a large black duffel. He leaned across the seat for something else and the back of his jacket slid up, revealing a delicious rear-view clad in faded denim. A dark thrill shot through her at the sight.
“Wow. That’s yum,” came Jen’s voice just behind her shoulder.
Maggie stepped back into the shadows behind the door, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Jennifer! For God’s sake, keep your voice down. This is our guest.”
Jen took a bite of the toast she’d prepared, looking remarkably unconcerned by either her words or her appearance. “The cop, right? The one I booked? Mom, if the front’s anything like the back, it totally beats Mexico.”
Nate turned around, bags in hand and Maggie pressed a hand to her belly. This was silly. It was a visceral, physical reaction, nothing more. He was good-looking. So what? She was his hostess. It wasn’t her style to have an attraction to a guest.
It wasn’t her style to feel that sort of pull to anyone for that matter, not these days. It was just Jen pointing out his attributes. Maggie wasn’t blind, after all.
His booted steps echoed on the veranda and he stomped the snow from his boots before coming in and putting down the bags.
Maggie shut the door behind him. Enough draft had been let in by the exchange and already the foyer was chilly.
“I’m Jen.” Jennifer plopped her piece of peanut butter toast back to her plate and held out her hand.
“Nate,” he answered, taking her hand and shaking it.
When he pulled back, a smudge of peanut butter stuck to his knuckle.
“My daughter,” Maggie said weakly.
“I gathered,” he answered, then with an unexpected grin, licked the smudge from his thumb.
Jen beamed up at him, unfazed, while Maggie blushed.
“You took my reservation,” he offered, smiling at Jennifer.
Jen nodded. “I’m on spring break.”
Maggie held out her hand. “Let me take your coat,” she offered politely. “The closet’s just here.”
He shrugged out of the jacket and Maggie realized how very tall he was. Easily over six feet, he towered over her modest height. He handed her the coat, along with thick gloves. She smiled as she turned to the closet, the weight of the parka heavy in her hands. For a man from the sunny south, he sure knew how to dress for an Alberta winter.
The phone rang, and Jen raced to answer it. Nate’s eyes followed her from the room, then fell on Maggie.
“Teenagers and phones.” She raised her shoulders as if to say, “What can you do?”
“I remember.” He looked around. “She gave great directions. I found you pretty easily.”
“You drove, then?” Maggie hadn’t had a chance to get a glimpse of his plates. Maybe the SUV was a rental. He could easily have flown into Calgary or Edmonton and picked up a vehicle there.
“The truck’s on loan from a friend. He met me at Coutts, and I dropped him off before driving the rest of the way.”
Maggie shut the closet door and turned back, getting more comfortable as they settled into polite, if cool, chitchat. This was what she did for a living, after all. There was no need to feel awkward with a guest, despite Jen’s innuendoes.
“Where does your friend live?” Maggie asked. Nate gripped the duffel by the short handles. Maggie paused her question. “Would you like some help with your bags?”
“I’ve got it.” He moved purposefully, sliding the pack over his shoulder and gripping the duffel.
Maggie stood nonplussed. His words had been short and clipped, but she’d only been offering a simple courtesy.
Her lack of response stretched out awkwardly while Jennifer’s muffled voice sounded from the kitchen. Inconvenience at his arrival was now becoming discomfort. Perhaps she’d been right after all when she’d thought about having a cop underfoot. Terse and aloof. She prided herself on a friendly, comfortable atmosphere, but it took two
