Wendy Etherington - Suiteheart Of A Deal

Terrific, thought Rainey. We’ve swung all the way from handyman to ladies’ man. “What sort of reputation?”

“Ah, well, some of it is exaggerated, I’m sure, but let’s just say that Beck is well-known in these parts.”

Rainey leaned forward on her seat. “Define ‘parts.”’

“Calgary, Bragg Creek, Canmore, Banff, Lake Louise, some parts of British Columbia, maybe even Washington State…”

She slumped back again. “Okay, I get the picture.”

While Rainey battled wildly mixed emotions—on the one hand she felt cheated; on the other hand she felt relieved—Nate casually added, “Oh, I forgot to mention, he’s also a licensed masseuse. Actually, he has a salon at the Haven.”

A masseuse? Wait a minute. Hadn’t the hustler in the dining room offered to give Rainey a massage? On the house? Surely…oh, no…surely Romeo wasn’t Beck Mahoney. Then again, he must be. He was about the right age. And how many masseuses could there be in a town the size of Bragg Creek?

“Nate,” Rainey asked with mounting dread, “is Beck Mahoney tall and blond?”

“He sure is. I take it you’ve met Beck?” His expression suggested that if Rainey had met the man, she would definitely remember him.

“I may have. I’m not sure.”

“Well, you’ll be meeting him shortly.” Nate glanced at his watch. “I asked him to join us at three-thirty. Your aunt said you would probably be a little upset, and that I should speak with you first.”

A little upset? While an astonished Nate looked on, Rainey threw back her head and laughed hysterically. Romeo as a business partner! It was too rich. She had just managed to get one hustler out of her life, and now she was going into business with another. Could things get any worse?

“MAN, OH MAN, what’s with this traffic,” Beck grumbled to himself as he cruised well below the speed limit along the Trans-Canada Highway between Bragg Creek and Banff. “Don’t these people know I’m late for an important date?”

Every summer, it was the same. Tourists and more tourists, clogging up the roadways of the Bow Valley Corridor, the steadily rising stretch of land that paralleled the Bow River west from Calgary, past Bragg Creek and Canmore, to the Rockies. But it was mid-September and most of them should have packed up and gone home by now. Obviously these road hogs didn’t know when to clear out.

Beck always looked forward to the lull between the summer tourists—the hikers and climbers and fishermen—and the droves of skiers who showed up in November when the region’s numerous ski hills opened for business. It gave him a welcome break from being nice to strangers from Winnipeg and Montreal and Denver and Dallas.

Normally he used the time to do a little fishing of his own, or to help Lilly with one of her pet projects. Last year he had lovingly restored the aqua-blue 1967 Ford Fairlane she had been smart enough to keep. He chuckled, recalling how his only reward for doing the work had been the privilege of chauffeuring her and her cackling, whiskey-addled cronies from one crazy appointment to another. Facials, makeovers, color charting sessions—they couldn’t get enough. Once, he had even taken them to see a psychic in Calgary. Imagine a bunch of eighty-year-olds consulting with a psychic. Now that was optimism.

With Lilly gone—gee, he was going to miss the darn girl!—he had no particular project in mind for this autumn break. Unless, of course…Speeding up to pass a sluggish camper van with Montana plates, his mind drifted to a pair of mesmerizing green eyes framed by a pert, pretty face and a crown of dark, silky hair. The mystery woman in the restaurant. What a babe.

Beck couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman worth taking a second look at. Sure he could have his pick of women anywhere in the corridor. But he’d never met one who looked quite like her, or sounded like her—ooh, that throaty, sexy voice—or who could dish it out and take it. She was in his head now, and he sensed it was going to be hard to get her out.

Who was she? There weren’t many single women hanging around the Haven. Maybe she was somebody’s mistress. Lots of secret lovers, some quite famous, appreciated Lilly’s legendary discretion.

Nah, somehow he didn’t think so. Not in this case. She was too fine to settle for second spot.

Maybe she was a new resident in town. Nah, that was even less likely. Tourist attractions aside, Bragg Creek was mostly a bedroom community for the families who preferred its Nordic beauty and small-town friendliness to the concrete hustle and bustle of Calgary. It didn’t attract too many singles—especially gorgeous single women.

And hey, what did it matter anyway? After that scene in the restaurant, he’d be lucky if Gorgeous Green Eyes didn’t cross the road to avoid him. Talk about making a bad first impression! Maybe he should do a little damage control—go back to the Haven later today and track her down. It was crazy, and probably pointless, but he was itching to tell her: Look, don’t take me too seriously, okay? It’s just that I need something to do until…

Yeah well, why bother? Once she found out about the money, she’d be no different than the others—salivating all over him every chance she got. He’d manage to keep it under wraps for a while, but sooner or later somebody would clue her in.

Dammit, he needed to fall in love with somebody for real and get married as soon as possible. The sooner he got married, the sooner he’d be able to get his hands on the second half of his trust fund. Then he could get a law degree and give his aching knees a rest. A man couldn’t give skiing lessons forever.

Three more years before they would cut the check. It seemed like an eternity.

Too bad about the babe with the shining eyes and the voluptuous curves. He had no trouble picturing himself married to her. He’d come home every night from his thriving practice in environmental law to find her wrapped in a white silk kimono, stoking the fire in his cottage, a snifter of brandy already poured for him. It made a nice picture.

What the hell, she probably knew about the money already. After all, she’d been in town for more than ten minutes.

As the corridor’s rolling foothills gradually gave way to the steely peaks of the Rockies, Beck marveled once again at the fact that Lilly had named him in her will. Man, what a shock. It hadn’t occurred to him for one second that she would leave him something. Oh, sure, he’d done some minor repair work around the Haven, and he’d given her more than a few foot massages over the years. But that didn’t amount to much. She had treated him like a son, and he’d been happy to help out an old lady with no kids of her own.

He’d also given her a lot of his hard-earned cash. What a poker player old Lilly had been! He had called her Poker Face Miller and she had nicknamed him Beck and Call.

What could she possibly have left him? He sure hoped it was the Fairlane.

“ANGELA, you sweet thing, you’re looking mighty fine today. Mighty fine indeed.”

Calmer now but still shaky, Rainey groaned and turned halfway around in her chair. The buttery voice behind her was unmistakable. Beck Mahoney, alias Romeo, alias Superstud, alias Mr. Insincerity, had burst into the reception area adjacent to Nate’s office and managed to get all of three steps into the room before finding a woman to charm.

Through the frosted glass between the two rooms, Rainey saw the blurred image of the flustered, middle-aged receptionist waving a hand in Beck’s direction. “Oh, get away with you, Beck Mahoney!” she admonished him with a girlish giggle. Beck grasped her hand in midair and planted a kiss on the back of it. “Angela, if I were twenty years older…”