A Bride For Crimson Falls (5 page)

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Authors: Cindy Gerard

BOOK: A Bride For Crimson Falls
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All in all it was a contented, if small, group. And it didn’t represent enough business to break even, let alone turn a profit.
He shifted his attention back to Scarlett. He was busy appreciating the slimness of her hips, packed into a pair of well-worn jeans, when a shadow fell over the table.
He looked up and into a black, toothless scowl, sunken in the pleated leather folds of a grizzled, ancient face.
“You’d be the money man.”
The old-timer’s voice was as rusted with age as his joints, which Colin could have sworn he heard creak when he slowly pulled out a chair and, inch by decrepit inch, sank down onto it.
“Colin Slater,” Colin said, cautiously offering his hand.
The old man considered, with a gummy compression of his mouth, before finally raising a gnarled paw in return. He met Colin’s grip with surprising strength.
“So,” he said, thumbing back a ragged cap with Crimson Falls written across the bill in faded red letters. He gave Colin a lengthy, disapproving appraisal, “what’s yer business here, boy?”
Three
“G
eezer.” Scarlett appeared at the table before Colin could respond. She addressed the aged inquisitor with a warning tone. “Mind your manners. Don’t you be giving Mr. Slater the third degree.”
She turned to Colin. “If he hasn’t already introduced himself, this is Geezer Jennings.”
As in “old geezer,” Colin concluded, but didn’t say as much.
“Geezer’s my main man, right Geez?” she added affectionately. “Handyman, dock boy, bartender. You name it, he does it.”
Colin added self-appointed protector to the list as Geezer cast a proprietary eye his way. “We were just getting acquainted.”
“Good,” she said brightly, then to Geezer, added, “Be good, now.” She laid a hand on his shoulder to soften the admonishment before hurrying off to see to the needs of another table.
Geezer pursed his leathery lips and gave Colin the evil eye—something he wasn’t used to. Instead of finding it irritating, he got a kick out of it. It was rare to be the recipient of such candor, and he appreciated it for what it was. He’d learned early on that one of the hazards of success was that people told you what they
thought
you wanted to hear, not what they really felt.
He liked Geezer’s honesty, but he wasn’t going to let the old boy think he had him buffaloed.
“You heard the lady,” Colin warned, narrowing his eyes to stall a grin. “You’re supposed to be good.”
Geezer snorted. Colin got the distinct impression that if they hadn’t been in the middle of Scarlett’s dining room, he would have spit on the floor.
“What I’m supposed t’ be is careful a’ the likes of a slippery Joe like you waltzin’ in here and makin’ trouble for that nice little woman.”
“Then you can relax,” Colin assured him, man-to-man. “The last thing I want to cause Scarlett is trouble. I’m just here for a short vacation.”
Geezer appeared unconvinced. While Colin admired the old man’s tenacity and loyalty, he also had to wonder if Scarlett actually had him on the payroll. If so, with help like him, it was small wonder she looked so tired. She probably had to cover the old man’s duties, too. That aspect of her character didn’t surprise him. From the beginning she’d struck him as the kind of woman who would take in, and tend to, strays and outcasts.
Geezer’s scratchy voice broke into his speculation. “I’ll be watchin’ ya,” he assured Colin, tucking in his chin and glaring down the length of his narrow nose to emphasize the warning.
“I’m sure you will be,” Colin responded, giving the old man the respect his loyalty deserved.
When he rose to leave, Colin did the same. Geezer scowled, mumbled something under his breath about “oily city manners” and shuffled out of the room.
Colin was still watching him when Casey made a quick cut over to his table.
“He’s harmless,” she assured him. “Mom always says he’s like an old bear marking his territory whenever he wants someone to know he cares about us and the hotel. So whatever he said, don’t take it personally. He probably said worse to the IRS man when he came and did an audit last year. Besides, he’s just naturally suspicious of any man who doesn’t wear a baseball cap.”
Colin chuckled as Casey scooted away to bus a table. She was a cute kid. Her openness was a refreshing change of pace. All her chatter about a ghost, and her thinly veiled hope that she’d spooked him with her little tale, had been charming.
He glanced around the dining room again, his gaze landing momentarily on the table of women. They burst into a frenzy of giggles. When he heard a not-so-subtly concealed “hubba-hubba” followed by another round of laughter, he realized they’d been sizing him up. One of them—a blonde with a big smile and a bigger chest—gave him a shy, three-finger wave, which sent her cohorts into another chorus of squeals and giggles.
He offered a polite, if baffled, smile and averted his attention to his coffee.
“They think you’re a hunk.”
It was Scarlett who popped by his table this time, coffee carafe in hand.
“And I think they had a little too much wine with their dinner,” he said.
She grinned. “That, too. But I’ve got to tell you, they are impressed. I think you’ve made their vacation. Not to worry, though. Most of them are married, so you’re relatively safe. They’re just letting their hair down.”
“Quite an assortment of guests you’ve got here.”
“They’re nice people. All of them.”
“All
fifteen
of them,” he clarified, then wished he hadn’t.
The brightness in her eyes faded. “Yes. Well, I’m hoping to change that soon.”
He wanted to ask how and what she had in mind, but felt he didn’t dare. She might construe it as meddling. and he didn’t want to set her on edge again.
“I’m sure you will,” he said instead, and complimented her on the meal.
“It’s not the Rainbow Room,” she said with an undercurrent of pride he found admirable, “but it’ll fill an empty stomach and taste good going down.”
“Very
good,” he assured her. “The cake tasted like one my brother makes.”
“Your brother? Ah. Now there’s a compliment a girl can take to heart.”
“Why, Ms. Morgan. Is that a gender-biased conclusion I see being drawn?”
Her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. “I stand corrected—and properly put in my place. I’m the last person in the world who should be making assumptions based on gender. My apologies to your brother. I’m sure he makes a delicious devil’s food cake.”
“Almost as good as yours, if that’s what it was.”
Her smile was soft and friendly. “I’ll be able to get away in about an hour. Would you like that tour then?”
“Sure. Why not.”
“Good. When you’re finished, you can wait for me out on the verandah, if you’d like. It’ll be cooler out there, and you can take your coffee with you. Or if you’d rather, the bar is through that door and to your left. Geezer makes a mean Manhattan.”
He snorted. “I’m sure he does. At this point, however, I’m a little leery of just how mean it would be.”
They shared another one of those smiles that hinted at friendship. The implied intimacy had him clearing his throat.
“In any event, I’ll err on the side of caution and pass on the drink. Another cup of coffee sounds good, though.”
“That I can do.” She topped off his cup. “See you later, then.”
“Right. Later.”
It was only after she walked away that he realized how much he was looking forward to
later
, and how long an hour suddenly seemed.
 
Forty-five minutes later Scarlett faced herself in the mirror in her room—and could have cheerfully buried her head in a sack! Train wrecks didn’t leave this much devastation behind.
She brushed a straggling curl away from her face with the back of her wrist and gave in to a groan. In the rush to get dinner ready and then clean up the kitchen and the dining room, she’d forgotten about her hair. She looked like a brillo pad that had mated with a dust mop.
Her French braid had lost any semblance of style by noon, when the heat had coaxed strand by curly strand to break free. The episodes with Casey’s puppies—who were going to be fish food soon if they didn’t clean up their act—hadn’t helped, either. Twice today she’d had to chase those two little hellions out of her garden, out of the boat house, then, finally, she’d had to drag them out from under the back porch when their pathetic little cries had gotten to her. Why she had
ever
let Casey talk her into taking one—let alone two—of Nashata’s pups was beyond her at the moment.
It’s because she was a pushover, she conceded irritably. When her friends Abel and Mackenzie Greene had offered Casey the puppies, she’d caved in like a dry-rotted mine shaft. The chocolate Lab, wolf-dogcross pups had been irresistible.
“And you,” she sputtered to her image in the mirror, “you wouldn’t be irresistible to a starving bear.”
Let alone to a man like Colin Slater.
She felt, suddenly, very sexless and very much like a country bumpkin in her faded old jeans, a pink tank top that had seen better days and grubby tennies. In the next instant, however, she felt defensive. She had nothing to apologize for. She worked hard and she was proud of it. Just because she didn’t have much time for feminine fluffing didn’t make her less of a woman. Not that she wanted Slater to think of her as one.
What then, a rutabaga? she wondered.
Losing patience with herself, she tugged her braid free and jumped into her second shower of the day. Fifteen minutes later she’d rebraided her hair, slipped into a pair of navy shorts and a white T-shirt, applied eye makeup and washed it off.
“You don’t wear makeup any other day,” she mumbled under her breath as she jogged down the stairs to the first floor. “You’ve got no reason to start now.”
Yet when she opened the screen door and stepped out onto the verandah, she had sharp and immediate second thoughts.
Colin Slater was waiting for her there. Not sitting, but, as she’d suspected, standing at the rail. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he shifted from one foot to the other with an unconscious sort of restlessness as he studied the view.
Even unsettled, the man was gorgeous. He couldn’t help it, she conceded, as she watched his profile in daylight made soft by the sun’s slow descent behind the trees. His features were sharp and clean; his hair, beautifully styled, enhanced them.
Some women might consider him irresistible. Not her, of course. But some women. Women who didn’t liken themselves to rutabagas. Model types, she suspected. Savvy, stylish socialites with buckets of money, expensive hair and soft skin. None of which she had.
She didn’t much like this overkill of awareness she felt around him—or that once again she was so conscious of her lack of sophistication. She didn’t like it, but she did know what to do about it. Ignore it. Like a bad cough when the cold ran its course, it would go away. Just like Colin Slater would go away at the end of his two-week exile.
In the meantime she’d decided to take what he’d told her at face value. He didn’t have any interest in the hotel. Since that had been the biggest source of her concern, she was determined to relax around him.
For all of his wealth, he seemed like a nice man. He wasn’t pompous, and when he let himself relax a little, was fairly quick with a smile. He’d also gained major points when he’d faced off with Geezer and given the crusty old soul his due. All things considered, if she could get past this attraction—which should be easy, since she wasn’t sixteen anymore—they ought to get along just fine for the next fourteen days.
Resolved to make his experience at Crimson Falls enjoyable, she joined him by the rail. Though he had to have heard her open and close the door behind him, his attention remained focused on the scene beyond the verandah. She understood his absorption. It was a picture she never tired of. In a companionable silence, they took it in together.
The sloping front lawn of the hotel ran the length of two city blocks. A winding lane cut through the grass and ended where water met shore. Legend Lake lay in all its shimmering glory, shining like silver-blue foil, the surface as placid as the windless evening.
Beyond the far shore, half a mile to the east, iron-rich bluffs rose five hundred feet above the evergreen and birch forest. At the high point, a ribbon of crimson-streaked silver cascaded over the cliffs, spilling from the Minnesota waters of Legend Lake into the boundary waters of Canada and Lake of the Woods.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” she said, never taking her eyes from the falls.
He nodded in silent agreement. “What makes the water look red?”
“It depends on what story you want to believe.”
He cocked his head, inviting her to tell all.
“If you want to go with the legend, the rock behind the falls is streaked with the blood of those who died trying their luck at running them. Supposedly the Chippewa used to try to ride the falls in their canoes. Later the loggers tried to go over them, too, in their big wooden boats. None succeeded. All died and their blood stains the rock as testimony to their bravery. However,” she paused, recognizing his doubtful look. “if you want to spoil the illusion, you’ll prefer the scientific explanation.
“Scientific explanation, it is,” she said with a smile. “It’s the iron in the rock. While it’s unusual to find it this far north in the state, a particularly rich vein runs the length of the cliffs behind the waterfall. When the water spills over, and the sun hits it just right, it takes on a crimson hue.”
He nodded, satisfied with her explanation. “It’s very striking.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed softly. “The first time I saw it, I thought it was magical.”
“And when was that?”
She smiled, remembering. “I was all of ten years old. My dad was an avid fisherman. Every year we’d head north from the Twin Cities and spend a week or two at a resort somewhere in the boundary waters.”

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