to show her the books as soon as possible.
Rainey suddenly realized just how demanding her new job was going to be. Everyone would be looking to her to make decisions and solve problems and provide inspiration. Her last position at the Royal York Hotel had been that of reservations supervisor. The job had required tact and patience, but it couldn’t compare with being general manager. With only thirty-two suites, the Haven was small stuff when compared to the Royal York, but, even so, the prospect of managing the entire operation, all by herself, was more daunting than she cared to admit.
A new feeling crept up on her now—loneliness. She was in a new town and she had no friends here, no family to provide support. Nobody to joke with, play with, confide in. She was truly alone.
She was also too tired to think about much of anything right now. After puzzling over it for a few minutes, she set Lilly’s old manual alarm clock for two-fifteen and fell across the bed, fully clothed.
She dreamed about a giant set of lips over dazzling white teeth, bearing down on her from above, ready to devour her one bite at a time.
2
“SURELY THERE MUST be some mistake! Could you…could you check again?”
Heart pounding, palms sweating, Rainey leaned forward in her chair and looked frantically at the file lying open on the polished rosewood desk. Several documents lay atop the open folder, stapled together with little blue paper corners. They looked awfully official.
Nate Frome of the firm of Wilson, Hutchinson, Frome sat on the other side of the desk. He was a tall, slender man with dark hair, the bland good looks of a television news anchor, and the brisk manner of a busy lawyer. Rainey guessed he was a few years older than she.
He nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake, Rainey. Your great aunt amended her will just six weeks ago. She was physically ill, but she wasn’t mentally incapacitated. The will is valid.”
Rainey slumped back in her chair, stunned beyond words. Half the Haven? How could Lilly have done that? How could she have left only half the inn to Rainey and the other half to some guy named Beckett Mahoney? Why, she hadn’t even left Rainey a controlling interest in the place. Instead she had doomed her to equal partnership with a total stranger. It wasn’t fair! Rainey had kept her part of their deal, but Lilly had reneged on hers. Why?
Fighting tears, she asked, “Who, pray tell, is Beckett Mahoney?”
From the look of mild disdain on his face, Rainey instantly got the impression that Nate knew this—this Mahoney person, and that he didn’t much care for him. And, furthermore, that there was a pretty good chance Rainey wasn’t going to care for him, either. A feeling of doom descended on her.
“Actually, he’s an old friend of mine, Rainey. We grew up together. Ah, well, maybe friend is too strong a word for…” Nate paused and cleared his throat. “He was a close friend of Lilly’s. He helped out around the Haven quite a bit, with repairs and that sort of thing. I think they played poker together once in a while. She was very fond of him.”
Rainey furrowed her brows. “Repairs? Is he some sort of handyman?” She envisioned an aging Mr. Fix-It, a stooped and arthritic grandfatherly type, shuffling around after Lilly with a tool kit in his hand. Terrific. Just what she needed.
“Ah, well, you might say that.” Nate chuckled. “Beck is certainly known to be, ah, quite handy.” Seeing the bewildered look on Rainey’s face, he adopted a more serious tone. “To be fair, Beck is actually a very accomplished man, Rainey. He’s licensed to fly small aircraft and gives lessons at the Springbank Airport near Calgary. He also gives ski lessons and volunteers for the Banff ski patrol. He’s a trained mountain guide and a pretty fair climber, too.”
A climber? “How old is Mr. Mahoney?”
“I believe Beck is thirty-two.”
Thirty-two. Well, that wasn’t so bad, really. At least he was only four years older than Rainey. Even so. An equal partner. She just plain didn’t want one. Arghhh! If sweet, funny, eccentric, Great-Aunt Lilly were alive, Rainey would kill her.
Nate gave her a warning look. “Rainey, you probably should know that Beck has a bit of a reputation with the ladies.”
Terrific, thought Rainey. We’ve swung all the way from handyman to ladies’ man. “What sort of reputation?”
“Ah, well, some of it is exaggerated, I’m sure, but let’s just say that Beck is well-known in these parts.”
Rainey leaned forward on her seat. “Define ‘parts.”’
“Calgary, Bragg Creek, Canmore, Banff, Lake Louise, some parts of British Columbia, maybe even Washington State…”
She slumped back again. “Okay, I get the picture.”
While Rainey battled wildly mixed emotions—on the one hand she felt cheated; on the other hand she felt relieved—Nate casually added, “Oh, I forgot to mention, he’s also a licensed masseuse. Actually, he has a salon at the Haven.”
A masseuse? Wait a minute. Hadn’t the hustler in the dining room offered to give Rainey a massage? On the house? Surely…oh, no…surely Romeo wasn’t Beck Mahoney. Then again, he must be. He was about the right age. And how many masseuses could there be in a town the size of Bragg Creek?
“Nate,” Rainey asked with mounting dread, “is Beck Mahoney tall and blond?”
“He sure is. I take it you’ve met Beck?” His expression suggested that if Rainey had met the man, she would definitely remember him.
“I may have. I’m not sure.”
“Well, you’ll be meeting him shortly.” Nate glanced at his watch. “I asked him to join us at three-thirty. Your aunt said you would probably be a little upset, and that I should speak with you first.”
A little upset? While an astonished Nate looked on, Rainey threw back her head and laughed hysterically. Romeo as a business partner! It was too rich. She had just managed to get one hustler out of her life, and now she was going into business with another. Could things get any worse?
“MAN, OH MAN, what’s with this traffic,” Beck grumbled to himself as he cruised well below the speed limit along the Trans-Canada Highway between Bragg Creek and Banff. “Don’t these people know I’m late for an important date?”
Every summer, it was the same. Tourists and more tourists, clogging up the roadways of the Bow Valley Corridor, the steadily rising stretch of land that paralleled the Bow River west from Calgary, past Bragg Creek and Canmore, to the Rockies. But it was mid-September and most of them should have packed up and gone home by now. Obviously these road hogs didn’t know when to clear out.
Beck always looked forward to the lull between the summer tourists—the hikers and climbers and fishermen—and the droves of skiers who showed up in November when the region’s numerous ski hills opened for business. It gave him a welcome break from being nice to strangers from Winnipeg and Montreal and Denver and Dallas.
Normally he used the time to do a little fishing of his own, or to help Lilly with one of her pet projects. Last year he had lovingly restored the aqua-blue 1967 Ford Fairlane she had been smart enough to keep.
