A Promise of Fireflies (27 page)

Ryleigh glanced at her watch. He’d be on the outskirts of Phoenix by now. “The last time I went away I think the Azkaban dementors sucked out my soul.”

“What?”

Ryleigh chuckled. “Never mind,” she said as they entered the spa.

“And,” Nat said, giving her a teasing jab to the arm, “the Stanley Hotel is in Estes Park.”

Ryleigh grabbed her coat and purse. “Stephen King stayed there, and it was his inspiration for
The Shining.
”

“They say it’s haunted.”

“I’d rather stay there than the resort. Room 237.” The offer was intriguing. Though she didn’t want to admit it, Nat’s wiles had set the hook. She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “When do I leave?”

“Two weeks. End of January.”

“Crap. That means more time off. Bernadette has no life outside
The Sentinel
and thinks no one else should either. I dread asking. I swear she inspired
Horrible Bosses
.”

Natalie flashed her a mischievous grin. “I don’t think she’ll be much of a problem.”

Ryleigh stopped dead. “What did you do?”

“Offered some incentives. A massage, pedicure and I threw in a facial.” Natalie scrunched her face. “Quid pro quo.”

“Gag me now,” Ryleigh said, clapping her hand over her mouth. “That’s bribery, Natalie Jo. I look good in pink, but I don’t particularly relish the idea of spending time in Tent City in Sheriff Joe’s infamous pink underwear. Besides, a facial won’t do her any good.”

Natalie chuckled. “Your boss will authorize the time. Trust me. And I guarantee she won’t utter a peep.”

“What did Mitch say about all this?”

Natalie swung her arm over Ryleigh’s shoulder. “It was his idea.”

A renewed energy forced a wide smile to spread across Ryleigh’s face and her step lightened. Not quite the butterfly from the chrysalis, but just maybe…one step forward. This could be fun.

“Go pack your long johns, it’s in the mountains. And cold. Oh, and these,” she said, digging in her purse. She removed six foil packets.

Ryleigh’s eyes widened. “What the hell do I need these for?”

“It’s a resort.” She shrugged. “With a boatload of male investors. You never know.”

She shook her head. “Um, no.”

“Know how to use one?”

Prickles of heat rose to the top of Ryleigh’s head. “I was married a long time. Didn’t have much need to…”

An impish smile played across Natalie’s face and she regarded her from eyes gone devilishly dark. “They’re flesh colored.”

“What dif does that make?”

“Could be turquoise or pink. Or KFC. You know, finger-lickin’ good?”

Her cheeks burned red hot. “You’re hilarious, but I won’t need them,” Ryleigh said, pushing the condoms back at her as if they were contagious, “but if I ever do, I certainly hope I’m not stretching one over a fried chicken leg.”

“I don’t have any chicken legs handy.” Nat laughed and tucked them into Ryleigh’s purse. “But I do know where there’s a cucumber.”

DRIVING THE MOUNTAINOUS
curves into Estes Park in the BMW X5 was the ultimate, but dwarfed in comparison when Ryleigh spied the conspicuous spire of the Stanley Hotel rising against the scabrous mountain backdrop. Nestled into the Rocky Mountain foothills, the hotel stood stark white against the gray mountains, its brick-red roof a bloody contrast to the evergreens.

Her spine tingled. “This is crazy cool,” she muttered, recalling the Overlook Hotel from Stephen King’s
The Shining
. And wasn’t the second film shot there? The image shrank in the rearview mirror and she craned her neck for one last peek. “I must see this place close up.”

As the miles passed, the snow deepened and the evergreens thickened. The majestic snow-capped peaks of the Rockies loomed around her, as if hand-painted against a cloud-studded blue canvas sky.

Ryleigh turned onto a narrow, snow-packed road, pulled over, and engaged the four-wheel drive. She wiped her palms on her jeans, cinched her fingers around the steering wheel, and then drove cautiously along the forest road.

Douglas fir, blue spruce and groves of leafless aspen draped the road in shadow. The first sight of the resort breached the palisade of trees, and for the first time since she left the asphalt, she allowed herself to relax. A wooden bridge crossed the rapids of Fall River and into a valley of provincial-style log cabins and one massive log-sided building she presumed to be the lobby. She pulled up and parked, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and stepped into the brisk mountain air. The river rippled to the energetic squeals of children caught in the crossfire of a snowball fight.

Ryleigh slipped, caught her balance, and then walked cautiously to the entrance. A rustic Whisper of the Pines sign hung over the entrance and images of the surrounding valley were carved into heavy oak doors. Inside, massive log beams laced themselves across a high cathedral ceiling, and windows rose floor to ceiling on one side.

“Welcome to Whisper of the Pines Resort,” a boisterous voice rang out. “Your winter wonderland at the base of the Rockies.”

Startled away from the view, Ryleigh turned. The woman’s eyes sparkled amid an aged face that had seen too much sun over the years. “I’m Rose, your hostess for the weekend. What can I help you with today?”

Ryleigh recognized the name and smiled back. “Hello, Rose. I’m Ryleigh Collins,” she said, pushing a wayward strand of hair behind an ear.

“Of course you are!” Rose extended a pair of robust arms and swallowed Ryleigh in a welcoming hug. “Natalie told me all about you. Welcome.”

“She conned me into taking her place.”

“We’re thrilled to have you,” she said, patting Ryleigh’s hands enthusiastically, “and you’ll be delighted you came.”

“This place is gorgeous.”

“It is, indeed. The new owners have made some marvelous improvements. It’s amazing what the Cavanaughs—what Logan, I should say, does with his resorts. It’s a Cinderella story—from ordinary to exquisite. He has quite an instinct. A Midas touch if you will.”

“A lot like Nat and Mitch.”

Rose threw her arms in the air. “Indeed they are, and now they’re expanding. It’s been her dream since we were in college.” Rose chuckled. “Oh goodness, don’t look so stunned. I’m a bit old, but better late than never they say.” She spun around, glancing through the clusters of people. “Mr. Cavanaugh—the owner—is here somewhere. You must meet him.” She grabbed Ryleigh by the hand. “Come. Let’s get you checked in. Natalie reserved the best cabin for you.”

“Of course she did.” Ryleigh relaxed into a bright smile, the stress melting into the surroundings. Even the resort’s name boasted of tranquility. “She’s extremely generous. I wish I could reciprocate somehow.”

“This is a tremendous favor you’re doing for her,” she said, wagging a finger back and forth. “Mr. Cavanaugh would have been extremely disappointed had she canceled. He feels the spa services are a much needed addition.” She handed Ryleigh the keycard to cabin three. “Your visit is extremely important.”

“Okay, then. I’ll do my best. When would be a good time to show me the proposals?”

Rose glanced at the clock. “It’s two now. What do you say after dinner? Around six?”

“Perfect.” Ryleigh tilted her head slightly to one side. “Do you mind if I take in the view for a few minutes?”

“By all means.” Rose beamed. “There’s a wonderful Reading Room left of the lobby. You’ll love it.” She winked. “I understand you’re a writer.”

A shy smile curled the corners of her mouth. “That’s a matter of opinion, but thank you, Rose.” To dispute the notion Natalie had planted in Rose’s head seemed futile. After this weekend she would probably never see Rose again. It seemed silly to refute it.

Ryleigh thanked her and glanced around the lobby, encased in glass and in the shape of the bow of a ship. The view wrapped itself around her. She drew a deep breath and followed her curious fascination to the Reading Room.

Ryleigh tossed her purse and coat on a leather chair, scanned the room and then paused at the section devoted to poetry. She breathed in the musty fragrance of newsprint and ink, the essence of familiarity. The essence of heaven. She ran her fingers along the spines and hesitated where the ‘F’s should be.

“Looking for a particular poet?”

“Crap.” Ryleigh clutched her neck and turned abruptly. “You scared me.”

A rather tall man with a black cashmere scarf hung loosely over broad shoulders stood at the entrance to the Reading Room stomping snow from his Sorels. Ryleigh raised an eyebrow, thankful a heavy throw rug caught the dribbles of mushy snow. “I’m sorry,” he said and tucked wet leather gloves into his coat pockets. A coy smile erupted across an angular jaw. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was curious if I should see to adding another author.”

She shrugged. “I favor Robert Frost’s poetry, but I didn’t see any of his.”

“The collection isn’t quite complete. Frost isn’t among us.”

“Not since the sixties, anyway.” Heat prickled her cheeks as his mouth curled into a penetrating half-smile. “I enjoy his simplistic style,” she said, wishing she could take back the silly remark. “But there’s plenty to leaf through.”

“Emily Dickinson…” he said with an awkward pause, as if he hadn’t meant to say the name. “I find her work intriguing.”

The hesitation caused her to look away. “I think I know what you mean.” Ryleigh dragged her hand along the spines of Cummings, past Eliot and stopped at Stevenson. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my cabin. I have a date at six.”

“You don’t want to be late. Which cabin are you looking for?” He raised a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive, but each of the cabins has its own history or bits of trivia and some have regular visitors. The wildlife in the Rockies is extraordinary.”

“So, you work here?” she asked, noting the way his consummate smile accentuated perfectly matched dimples.

The man chuckled, his voice deep and rich. “You could say that.”

Logan Cavanaugh shook his head to erase the picture from his mind. He’d been curious when one of his guests had entered the Reading Room, anxious to see if his mini library would lure them when the infinite winter playground of the Rocky Mountains lay just beyond the doors.

His father had been against the addition of the room, arguing it was a waste of resources. Contrary to his father’s objections, he had the contractors add it anyway.

From across the room, he’d observed the woman, her enthusiasm for books and poetry apparent as she’d browsed the shelves. And he couldn’t help but notice her shy smile and the generous dimple it created in one cheek. The left. Up close, her green eyes sparkled in the firelight and her cheeks had blossomed to a warm shade of rose.

He hadn’t meant to stare.

And he surely hadn’t looked at a woman that way, or in any way, in more than three years.

As a pale winter sun sank below the craggy peaks of the Continental Divide, Logan pulled to the stop sign, turned onto the asphalt and drove toward town. He parked the Range Rover and walked the few blocks to the Estes Park Book Shop.

The sweet bouquet of lavender on Laurie’s skin and her reserved smile were an integral part of him, and the mere thought of another woman brought about deep feelings of hypocrisy and betrayal. Her death had a way of sneaking past his rational side, even now. Logan’s heart thundered inside his chest as if he had committed a sin, the desire to find a book for a woman he didn’t know waging war with a deep-seated tug of guilt.

He didn’t even know her name.

Assuming the book he wanted was one few people would ask for, he bypassed the shelves and went straight to customer service. He chose
Robert Frost, The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged
—hardback. He would be certain to have Frost’s entire collection, insisting it arrive overnight no matter what the cost.

Logan thanked the cashier and stepped outside. The frigid air cooled the nervous perspiration on his brow and he picked up his pace, desperate to leave the nefarious act of betrayal in his wake.