tidy French braid that hung down her back was as thick as his wrist and the color of ripe wheat. The whole time he’d talked to her his fingers had itched to unwind that plait, run his fingers through the silky strands, see that glorious mane spread out on his pillow like liquid gold.
He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Conway,” he cautioned himself. “The lady may look like an angel, but for all you know she could be a crook, so don’t go getting any amorous ideas.”
J.T. wandered over to one of the windows and pulled back a lace panel. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, casting long purple shadows over the town below. Here and there lights were beginning to flicker on.
Gold Fever, with its false-front buildings and fancy Victorian architecture, looked quaint and picturesque, like a scene on a Christmas card—idyllic, peaceful, free from troubles and the normal human failings and vices.
But J.T. had learned that things were seldom as they seemed, that people—even the best of them—harbored dark secrets. He also knew that, human nature being what it was, there was always someone anxious to talk about them.
Chapter Three
The telephone started ringing as Kate reached the bottom of the stairs. Taking the shortcut through the butler’s pantry, she darted into the kitchen and snatched the receiver from the wall phone. “Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast. How may I help you?”
“Well? How does it feel to be a lady of leisure?”
“Zach! It’s so good to hear from you. And I was feeling really great while it lasted, but as of about a half hour ago, I have a guest who is staying through the winter.” Briefly she filled him in on how J. T. Conway had talked her into letting him stay, but when she was done, Zach was not pleased.
“Dammit, Sis, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let a strange man stay there with you all winter long.”
“Zach, strange men stay here all the time,” she chided.
“It’s one thing to have single men staying there during tourist season when there are other guests around. It’s something else to be all alone with one for months. You could get snowed in with this guy. What if he turns out to be a rapists or pervert or a serial killer?”
“Zach, I’ll be fine. Mr. Conway is a nice man. I’m sure he’s harmless,” she said with long-suffering patience. She wasn’t about to admit to Zach that on some basic man-woman level J.T. made her antsy. She adored her brother, but he had a tendency to be overprotective where she was concerned.
While she didn’t believe for a moment that J.T. posed a threat to her safety, Kate knew perfectly well that men like J. T. Conway exuded a sexual magnetism that played havoc with a woman’s heart and common sense—even a practical woman like herself—but she resolutely pushed that unsettling thought aside. She could not afford to give in to Zach on this. The man would wrap her in cotton wool if she didn’t stand up to him.
“How old is this guy?”
“Well I wasn’t so rude as to ask him such a personal question, but he appears to be about your age.”
“My age! Trust me. He’s not harmless.”
Kate laughed. “And what, dear brother, does that say about you? Hmm?”
“That I’m a normal, red-blooded male. And unless this Conway guy is a total nerd or a freak, so is he. Which is why I want you to give him his money back and send him on his way.”
J. T. Conway? A nerd? Or a freak? Hardly. Laughing, Kate refused, and they argued for a few minutes more. She insisted that all she had to do was keep her distance and treat J.T. as she would any other guest, and she’d be fine. “Besides,” she added, “In a year or two the house will need a new roof. The Alpine Rose is doing all right, financially, but a major capital expenditure like that will stretch the budget thinner than I’d like. Now the extra money has been dropped into my lap like a gift. It would be stupid to turn it down.”
Zach cursed and raged, but in the end he had no choice but to accept her decision.
When they said goodbye, Kate headed out the back door, grabbing a battered pea jacket that belonged to Zach from the rack on the service porch. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, but twilight lingered a long time in the high country. It would be an hour or so before full darkness descended, and she had too much to do to waste time.
She marched up the incline to the old carriage house that was now a combination garage and toolshed. Ten minutes later, wearing a pair of work gloves and the oversize coat with the collar turned up against the biting wind, she loaded compost into a wheelbarrow and pushed the unwieldy thing around to the front of the house.
Kate had spread most of the load onto the beds when J.T. came out the door to retrieve more items from his vehicle.
He smiled when he spotted her and called, “That looks like hard work. Need some help?”
It had been so long since anyone other than Zach had offered to help Kate in any way that she was taken aback. For a second she could only stare at him. Then she gave herself a mental shake and scooped up another shovelful of compost from the wheelbarrow. “Thank you, no. I can manage.”
Nice as it would be to have help, she couldn’t possibly accept. He was a guest, after all, not a friend or a hired hand. One, furthermore, from whom she intended to keep her distance. She couldn’t very well do that and accept favors from the man.
Besides, as she’d told him, she could manage. She’d run this place with no help from anyone for four years, hadn’t she?
“You sure? I don’t mind. I’ve been driving for days. Physical activity is just what I need to work out the kinks.”
“Thank you, but no.”
J.T. shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate watched him lope down the steps and stride out to his Jeep. When he lifted the rear cargo door and bent over to pull out two cases, her gaze was drawn to his backside. Helplessly she noted how the faded jeans molded that firm flesh, and experienced an odd pressure in her chest.
She forced her gaze upward, but that was no help. Beneath the dark pullover, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders bunched and rippled as he easily hefted the cases out and headed back up the walk.
“If you’d like, you can park your car under the porte cochere,” she called to him as he climbed the front steps. “It’s more convenient than the garage in bad weather. That’s a distance beyond the house and I keep it locked all the time, but if you prefer to garage your Jeep I’ll get you a key.”
“The porte cochere will do fine. Thanks.”
J.T. made several more trips to the car and back. Each time Kate tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. There was something about that devilish smile and chiseled good looks and that drew the eyes like steel shavings to a magnet. That killer body and easy, hip-rolling saunter didn’t hurt any, either, she admitted ruefully.
Feeling foolish, Kate attacked her work with renewed vigor when he drove the Jeep around to the side under the porte cochere
