He put a black cowboy hat on his head and took the stairs two at a time, then got into his truck to drive a couple of miles to the hotel.
There was the hotel proper, plus some riverside cabins, asauna out by the river, and a whole lawn with games for people to play. Cornhole and horseshoes, things like that.
There was a pool, and a hot tub, a whole pool deck that was looking really nice, if he said so himself.
It was the kind of place he never would’ve been able to stay when he was a child, that was for sure. And now, it was his.
The money was all his hard work. The inheritance of the ranch was his dad’s hubris and possible deathbed guilt – though Cody doubted it. Either way, it wasn’t anything he’d ever take for granted.
He pulled his truck into the newly paved parking lot and parked before heading up to the doors to unlock them.
The lobby was almost entirely finished and smelled brand new, the scent of wood, the stone from the fireplace, and the fresh coat of paint. He flicked the lights on, looking up at the antler chandelier, which was more modern than rustic, but gave it a nice western edge.
It was good. It was looking good, and it was going to work. He had a lifetime of failure, and for the past decade, he had only succeeded. He didn’t do failure, not anymore.
An SUV pulled into the space next to his truck, dusty and with a bent Vermont license plate. There were two women sitting in the front seat. Though it was hard to make their features out through the glare on the windshield. He turned away because it felt like it was a weird thing to do, to stand there and stare at them while they made their way inside.
This must be them. Cara, the baker, and Marlowe, the wife, must be in the front. The husband must be tucked in the back.
The wife.
She was a wife.
He couldn’t remember that guy’s name.
He could remember Marlowe’s voice.
He squinted up at the chandelier. Then he wondered if it looked even weirder that he was standing facing away from them. So, he turned around. Just as the door opened. The first woman to walk in had dark hair. She was wearing a flowery, ruffly mini dress. She was petite, and only the very short hem of the dress made her legs look like they had any length at all.
But it was the other woman who caught his eye and held it.
She had red hair that fell down past her shoulders in waves. She was pale. All freckled, and it was a hell of a thing that the first thought he had was that he wondered how long it would take to kiss every single freckle on her face.
He didn’t need them to introduce themselves to know who he was looking at.
The redhead had to be Marlowe. Or maybe she didn’t. Because there was no rule that said a voice that affected him the way hers had would be attached to a woman who was just as much of a gut punch.
Not that the other wasn’t pretty.
But this wasn’t about pretty. This was about something else. That kind of something else that grabbed you low and held fast.
That kind of something else that he’d certainly never experienced before. It was just the kind of thing that he’d heard about. That somebody could be your own personal kind of accelerant to a lit match.
Her eyes caught his and held. And he could swear that he saw her cheeks turn pink. But he blinked, and then he wasn’t so sure.
“Hi,” he said, his voice more clipped than he wanted it to be. “I’m Cody Grayson. You must be?—”
He waited for them to finish the sentence for him.
“Cara,” the brunette said, not surprising himat all.
“I’m Marlowe,” the redhead said, taking a step toward him and extending her hand. She had her right hand held out, but he looked down at her left hand and saw that it was bare. He looked behind them, waiting to see if there was another person coming in, but there was nobody.
He held his hand out to take Marlowe’s, and the touch of her skin against his was proof of what he had just thought.
Accelerant. Match.
He got through the handshake as quickly as possible, lowered his palm back down to his side, and flexed his fingers. Trying to do something to get rid of that sensation.
