Jenny had supper in Cain’s suite. Opal had been cooking for the construction guys, who were working late to get the job done on time. She’d made beef stew, served it with a loaf of crusty bread, and baked an apple pie.
Cain found their supper foil-wrapped on a tray in the oven and carried it upstairs, along with flatware and napkins.
The hotel was getting closer to completion. A lot had been done to the suite in the past several days. Jenny could see her influence in the décor, small touches she had suggested to Millicent, who had actually liked the ideas and placed the orders. The caramel-leather sofa had been brightened with earth-toned Southwest colors. There were Indian rugs and pillows that picked up the same warm tones, items she had found in one of the shops on Main Street. Another shop had provided lamps of polished wood inlaid with turquois, covered with leather shades the color of the sofa.
“I think this suits you,” Jenny said, as she glanced around. “What do you think?”
“I like it. It would have been just a place to stay before. Now it feels like an extension of the ranch, part of my home.”
Jenny smiled, glad he approved. “It does, and yet it has a slightly more modern feel that makes it unique. I think Millicent is doing a good job.”
“Better because of your input. I’m really glad I hired you.”
Her smile fell away. “I shouldn’t be sleeping with you. It’s not professional.”
Cain walked over and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her, long and deep, then lifted her chin with his fingers. “Things happen. The way we handle them is what makes life interesting.”
His gaze roamed over her, and she didn’t miss the hunger. “You’re right,” he added, knowing she had read his thoughts. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking, but it’s been a long day, and I’m sure you’re starving.”
She was, but not for food. Cain was uncovering an unknown part of her. She was becoming addicted to the things he could make her feel, the kind of pleasure she hadn’t believed was real.
Cain went to the bar, opened a bottle of Cabernet, and poured them each a glass. They sat down to eat in front of a live-edge coffee table made from a thick slab of polished wood that complemented the lamps and leather sofa.
“Millie’s putting the same kind of table by the window,” Cain said. “With four leather chairs. Should make a nice eating area.”
“Sounds perfect.” Even if Millicent had her sights set on Cain, it didn’t make her any less proficient at her job.
“So, aside from wrangling snakes, what did you do today?” he asked, digging into his stew.
Jenny swallowed the bite she had taken, which was delicious. “All the usual stuff, but I managed to carve out a little time to start going through the old hotel journals.”
He took a sip of wine. “What kind of journals?”
“We don’t use them anymore, but in the past, guests could write their experiences in a leather-bound volume we kept on the front desk in the lobby. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories I read.”
“Ghost stories?”
“Some were complaints about things guests didn’t like about their stay in the hotel. The toilet in room three ran all night. The shower dripped. The music in the bar was too loud—stuff like that.”
“Sounds like the usual complaints every hotel deals with.”
“Some of it was. But the idea of the journals was to write down any interesting experiences the guests might have had during their stay. Paranormal stuff, you know? Some of the stories were really creepy, and a lot of them were repeated over the years.”
He tore off a crusty piece of bread. “Such as?”
“Accounts of a ghost cat. Apparently, the hotel has a resident ghost who’s a cat. People felt the cat rubbing against their legs. They found paw prints on the furniture when there was no cat in the room.”
“That’s definitely creative.”
“There were also children’s handprints on the windows. This was reported several times. It seemed to happen every year.”
Clearly interested, Cain listened as he ate his stew. “What else?”
“A lot of people reported hearing heavy breathing and someone groaning. A couple staying in a room in the old section reported hearing old-fashioned piano music and people laughing in the bar well after the bar had closed. When it happened to me, I thought I must be dreaming, but now I believe it was real. A couple of people also reported seeing round white lights near the ceiling in the saloon.”
“Orbs, right?”
“That’s what they’re called. I saw one in my room one night. They’re supposed to be the spirits of souls trapped on the earthly plane.”
