“I need a place to stay.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid as of yesterday, the Alpine Rose is closed for the winter.”
“You’re kidding. I had no idea you weren’t open year-round.”
“There wouldn’t be much point. Tourists love this area during the other seasons, but since we don’t have a ski resort nearby, our harsh winters tend to keep them away.”
The man sighed and looked out over the town again. Then he turned back to her with a persuasive smile. It was pure practiced charm, Kate knew, but that didn’t stop her heart from giving a little kick when he turned those vivid blue eyes on her.
“Could I perhaps persuade you to make an exception for me?”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, wait. Before you say no, hear me out. I’m not looking for a room for just a night or two. I’d like to book a stay for at least six months.”
“Six months? Oh, I’m sorry, Mr.…”
“Conway. J. T. Conway.”
“Mr. Conway, I’m not running a boarding house. This is a first-class bed and breakfast. The people who stay here usually do so for only a few days.”
“I know, but what’s my alternative? The Miners’ Lodge? I stopped in there and had a look before coming here. No, thanks.”
Kate stared at him. He had her there. She wouldn’t wish that place on anyone. The Miners’ Lodge had been a brothel in the nineteenth century, and other than to change the sheets, she doubted the current owners had done anything to improve the cubbyhole rooms. They ran a pool hall and restaurant and bar in the downstairs. Occasionally they rented out one of the upstairs rooms—mostly to the young crowd who typically stayed in youth hostels. Those who sought elegance, comfort and good food came to the Alpine Rose.
“Mr. Conway, I’m doing you a favor by refusing. The elevation of the town is just over nine thousand feet. Our winters are brutal. We get snowed in for days at a time. Trust me, you would hate it.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully and glanced down at the town. “Does anyone live in Gold Fever during the winter months?”
“Yes. There are about three hundred year-round residents.
“Do you stay through the winter?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure I can manage.”
“Mr. Con—”
“You don’t understand, Miss, uh…?”
“Kate Mahoney. I own the Alpine Rose.”
“Well, Miss Mahoney, solitude is exactly what I’m looking for. It won’t bother me a bit to be snowed in. You see, I’m writing a novel set in this area during the gold rush, and I really need to stay here to conduct my research and get the feel of the place.”
“I see. Nevertheless—”
“If you’re worried that I’ll be a lot of trouble, don’t. Most of the time I’ll be in my room writing, or down in town doing research and interviewing the old-timers around here. This is a big house. You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”
Oh, she’d know he was there, all right, Kate thought. No woman under the age of ninety could fail to be aware of the presence of a man like J.T. Conway under her roof. Her feminine radar would pick him up even if she put him on the third floor in the old servants’ quarters.
Instinct told her that the smart thing would be to refuse his request. The man unsettled her, although she wasn’t sure why. It was more than merely his looks; she’d had good-looking men stay in her home before. But there was something about J. T. Conway…
She had every right to refuse. She needed a rest from looking after guests, and she was looking forward to a period of solitude and self-indulgence. When she had the house to herself she could take long bubble baths and sleep late and run around in sweats and socks and never put on makeup. Shoot, she could run around bare-beamed and buck naked, if she wanted to.
Still, she could use the money. A house as old as this one was constantly in need of repair. And, as he said, it was a big place. How much trouble could one man be?
Sensing that she was weakening, he quickly took advantage. “Look, we can agree on a monthly rate and I’ll pay you the six months rent in advance. It’s yours regardless of whether or not I stay the full six months. How does that sound?”
Six months rent up-front? Kate made a quick calculation in her head, and temptation tugged at her. A few of the rooms could use fresh paint and wallpaper. By next spring the carriage house would need repainting and there were several other repairs she needed to tackle to keep the place in top condition.
She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly.
“And of course I’ll pay extra for the additional meals.”
He named a generous figure, and Kate flashed him an annoyed look. Darn it. He wasn’t playing fair.
“Oh, and if you have any concern about being alone in the house with me for months, you really don’t have to worry. Not that I don’t find you attractive, mind you,” he added with a flirtatious wink. “I do. But I assure you I’ve never forced my attentions on a woman.”
I’ll bet, Kate thought. Men like J. T. Conway didn’t have to. Just the opposite. He probably had to beat women off with a club.
Actually, she hadn’t given a thought to that aspect until he mentioned it. Kate was accustomed to having strangers in her home. However, never anyone for a long period of time.
Kate wasn’t concerned for her safety. She had no illusions about her looks. She knew that she had a delicate sort of beauty that some found appealing, but she was hardly the type to drive a man wild with lust. Of course, some of the men who had stayed at the B&B had made passes at her, but she put a stop to that soon enough. With the married ones, a threat to tell their wives usually did the trick.
What bothered Kate was the gossip J.T. was sure to hear in town. Most of her guests didn’t stay long enough to learn about the scandal or hear the accusations against her and her brother. But if Mr. Conway was going to be around for months, talking to the locals and digging through the town’s old newspaper files, he was certain to find out about the crime.
How would he react? she wondered. With scorn? Or avarice? It was usually one of the two.
J. T. Conway’s opinion of her didn’t matter one way or the other, but she didn’t care for the idea of being cooped up all winter with someone who thought she was a criminal.
“I can give you references if you’d like,” J.T. pressed when she continued to hesitate. “My pastor back in Houston, a retired police detective and former girlfriends. You can call them, ask them anything you want.”
Kate arched one eyebrow. “Former girlfriends? Are you sure you want to risk that?”
His
