Suiteheart Of A Deal: Suiteheart Of A Deal / My Place Or Yours?

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When Beck stopped yapping long enough to catch his breath, she demanded to know, once and for all, exactly where they were going.

“Up,” he finally admitted. “Straight up the Galatea Trail in Kananaskis Provincial Park, the most beautiful place on earth.”

He was right. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, actually. Soon after they turned south off the Trans-Canada Highway onto a secondary blacktop, the forest hugging both sides of the road grew taller and denser and more varied. It was an explosion of green, punctuated here and there by startling bursts of pastel. A light breeze whistled through the trees, and the sky above was a perfect robin’s egg blue. Rainey sighed with pleasure—until she realized what Beck had just said.

“What do you mean by up?” she asked. “Exactly how far up are we going? And how are we getting there?”

“Eight kilometers, on foot. That’s about five miles, if you prefer the linear to the metric measurement.”

Eight kilometers? Good grief! Rainey struggled to recall the last thing she had climbed. Oh, yeah. The little ladder astride the bunk beds in Dana’s bedroom. Twenty years ago. Terrific.

“Please tell me we’re not going to be rappelling off the side of anything!” she cried.

He shook his head. “Not today. That’s next week. Today we’re just hiking. That’s about all you city types can handle on a first run.”

In the public parking lot at the mouth of the trail, they encountered two of the giggly young clerks from Nate Frome’s office—a petite blonde with a Kewpie doll mouth, and a lanky brunette who couldn’t peel her eyes off Beck for a second. Looking clear through Rainey, she whined, “Is it true what everybody is saying, Beck? That you’re married?” She made married sound like poisoned.

“’Fraid so, ladies. This is my wife, Rainey.” Beck draped his arm around Rainey’s shoulders and drew her close. She put her arm around him, and they both beamed foolishly at the young women.

“How do you do, Mrs. Mahoney?” the blonde asked politely. Rainey blinked. Mrs. Mahoney? Maybe they should have talked about that name thing, too. Oh, well, it went with the territory, she supposed.

“Very well, thank you,” she replied.

The women immediately dismissed her and started to chatter at Beck. Relieved, Rainey slipped out from under his arm—it felt a little too right—and took another look around.

“You know, you’re putting a big dent in my fan club,” Beck joked after his admirers bounced off in the direction of the trail.

Rainey rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, some dent!”

Laughing, Beck fished his backpack out of the trunk. He had made sandwiches for them, and brought fruit along, too. While Rainey appraised the steep, tree-lined cliffs facing them, he took something out of the backpack. “Rainey?” He tossed it to her. It was a necklace—a whistle, actually, suspended from a long shoelace.

She eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this for?”

“Bears,” he said without looking at her. “The trail will be nearly deserted today. Every now and then, we’ll give it a blow, just to let them know we’re here.”

Rainey gasped. “Bears! Beck Mahoney, you didn’t say anything about bears!”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said as if she were a hopeless worrywart. “It’s just a precaution, that’s all.”

She nodded and murmured, “Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe that for one minute!

They began the long, slow ascent. Beck went first, occasionally reaching back to help Rainey step up to a high ledge, or get over an outcropping of sharp rock. The mountainside was steep in some places, mercifully flat in others. Whenever they reached a level place, Rainey fell to the ground, gasping for air and begging for mercy.

“Buck up there, woman!” Beck teased. “It’s a long way up.”

Between the infrequent plateaus conversation proved impossible. It took every ounce of breath Rainey had just to blow the whistle. Beck had been right; the trail was seldom used at this time of year. But once in a while, when they stopped to rest, small groups of hikers overtook them.

At the halfway point, two stunning women about Rainey’s age passed by. They were moving at a good clip, and neither of them had so much as broken a sweat. Rainey, on the other hand, was drenched. Long ago she had peeled off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. Her skimpy T-shirt was damp, her face smudged, her upper arms scratched and bloody from numerous encounters with prickly branches.

She wanted to kill the women. Especially when one of them drawled, “Hi, Beck. Let me know if it doesn’t work out,” before tossing her chestnut mane in Rainey’s face and continuing along the trail. Beck’s only reaction was to check Rainey for her reaction. Seeing the stunned disbelief in her eyes, he threw back his head and roared.

The climb took nearly four hours. At the top they paused and surveyed the scene. Rainey’s jaw dropped.

A lush, green meadow stretched out before them, dotted with wildflowers in every color of the rainbow. Beyond it lay Mirror Lake, a shallow body of water so clear, so pristine, it seemed immoral even to look upon it. The nearby adjacent mountain peaks were perfectly reflected in the calm surface of the lake. It was an upside down photo, flawlessly framed and focused by nature itself.

Overcome with emotion, Rainey could barely speak. “Oh, Beck,” she finally managed to whisper, “I had no idea.” She squinted up at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you.”

He beamed. “My pleasure.”

They found an isolated, grassy slope near the water and lay down, side by side. The air was cool at that elevation, but the sun was hot—a phenomenon of mountainous areas, Rainey knew. She closed her eyes. Sometime later—time had ceased to exist—she opened them again. Beck had turned onto his side and sat up on one elbow. He was gazing dreamily into her eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss a beautiful woman up here,” he murmured softly.

Rainey cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you haven’t?” Surely he was joshing. Surely he had brought other women here—and kissed them all soundly.

“No, I haven’t,” he insisted.

He was telling the truth. She knew it.

“Well, you’ve got plenty of women to choose from up here.” She chuckled nervously. “I think I saw—”

Before she could finish, his right hand slipped under her back, inside her T-shirt and along her bare skin to rest between her shoulder blades. His mouth came down softly on hers.

When he pulled back, moments later, she gulped. “Beck, nobody is watching. You don’t have to—”

He silenced her with another kiss, longer and deeper this time. While Rainey moaned, his hand eased around to make light contact with the side of her firm, bare breast. When his thumb grazed her swollen nipple, a small cry escaped from Rainey’s throat and that darned throbbing started in her lower belly again. Unable to resist, she raked her fingers through his hair.

So what if they had no audience? So what if he had a stable of women? He was one gorgeous man.

“Actually, someone is watching!” came a harsh female voice from behind them.

Beck’s head snapped back. Blushing like crazy, Rainey pushed him away, scrambled to a sitting position and hastily rearranged her rumpled T-shirt. They both climbed to their feet. A woman stood behind them, feet planted firmly apart, arms folded, eyes spitting fire. It was the redhead from Banff.

“Hello, Francine,” Beck muttered.

“Hello, Beck,” the woman snarled. “Long time no see.” Her eyes slid over Rainey as if she were pond scum. Addressing Beck but still glowering at Rainey, she said, “I hear you got married. A bit sudden, wasn’t it?”

“Not at all.” He gestured between the women. “Rainey, this is Francine Yates. Francine, my wife, Rainey.”

“How do you do?” Rainey asked politely. The woman didn’t respond.

“Does this mean you’re out of circulation now?” Francine asked Beck.

“That’s exactly what it means, Francine.”

She snorted. “Sure it does.” She appraised Rainey from head to toe. “Watch your heart, lady.”

Anger welled up inside Rainey. Anger at the impertinence of this bitter creature, anger at Beck for finding her buttons and pushing them and anger at herself for being weak and stupid, as usual.

“Well you needn’t worry. I won’t trouble you further,” Francine huffed, then marched off toward the picnic area. They watched her retreating back until it was just a dot on the landscape, then Beck moved toward Rainey, smiling hopefully. “Now, where were we?”

She backed away and held up her hands. “Look, Beck, this is too much. Your life is way too complicated for me.”

Astonishingly, he stomped his foot. “Ah, c’mon, Rainey! She’s a reporter for the Banff Cragg and Canyon. She came to Nakiska Ski Lodge last winter to write a piece on the ski patrol. We went out a few times. That was all.”

Shaking, Rainey sat down again and reached for the backpack. “It’s time for lunch. I’m starving.”

“Rainey!”

Before she could censor herself, the question she was dying to ask slipped out of her mouth. “Tell me something. Did you and she…?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” It didn’t matter. Really it didn’t. Did it?

Beck started to laugh. “Obviously it matters to you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too!”

She sighed. “It’s okay, Beck. Honestly. Let’s just eat.”

8

THE NEXT FRIDAY afternoon, Rainey sat at her desk, in a stupor. She was so tired she couldn’t find the energy to move the stray lock of hair dangling before her eyes. Every once in a while she blew at it, hoping it would vanish. Finally she grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer and cut it off.

After returning home from their hike on Sunday, Beck had insisted they dine out and go to a movie—a comedy Rainey had mostly slept through.

On Monday night he dragged her, kicking and screaming, to a darts tournament in Calgary. There she drank two beers and passed out, facedown, on their table.

On Tuesday night he took her to a hockey game at the Saddledome, where she lost her purse and spent two tedious hours searching for it.

The next night he insisted they go shopping for skis, boots, bindings and poles. Rainey’s legs were so sore from the hike, the store clerk had to lift them and drop them into the boots.

Last night he had the nerve to come home with two brand-new mountain bikes strapped to the trunk of the Fairlane. Rainey begged and pleaded with him to stash them in the shed, but he insisted a short ride would be good for her pain.

In retrospect the hike up the Galatea Trail had been a cakewalk. The real nightmare had been the descent. Jumping from ledge to ledge. Landing hard on her sneakered feet. Bending and straightening her creaky knees. At least the pain was down to a dull ache now.

Painkillers were useless. What she really needed was a kneecap transplant.

She picked up the laundry services contract on her desk and examined the fine print at the bottom of its first page. She had a ton of paper work to do before heading home for the weekend, but concentration eluded her. It was partly the exhaustion, she knew, and partly the constant shuffling and scraping overhead. The crew Beck had hired to pack Lilly’s things and put them in storage was nothing if not noisy.

Still, she couldn’t complain. Next week the wedding chapel conversion would begin. Now that would be noisy.

It was also partly Beck. Something had to be done about the guy.

“Mrs. Mahoney!”

Startled out of her wits, Rainey tossed the laundry contract in the air and groaned as its half-dozen pages separated and flew off in different directions. Scowling, Freda Norman tromped into the room and began to collect them. Her previously gray hair, now midnight black, was a veritable explosion of red plastic bows. Combined with a new shade of bloodred lipstick, they made her look just like Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Only crazier.

Rainey closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know, Mrs. Norman, you can call me Rainey. I won’t be offended.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it! The furnace for the west wing has quit again. I thought you should know.”

“Is Beck around?”

“No. He’s gone to Calgary to meet with those bankers.”

Rainey cringed at the housekeeper’s vitriolic pronunciation of the word bankers. The inn was a hotbed of whispered speculation about the marriage—and, by extension, the money. One version of the story had Rainey as an evil vixen who had, from thousands of miles away, cleverly targeted poor, sweet Beck Mahoney as a sucker. Another labeled Beck as the villain, a lying, scheming rogue who had ruthlessly seduced poor, sweet Rainey Miller just to get his hands on the booty.

It was amazing, she thought, how quickly gossip circulated in a small town, and how quickly people put their own spin on it. She hated it—hated having so much attention focused on her. She had enough to worry about.

“How many suites in that wing are presently occupied?” she asked Mrs. Norman.

“Only four.”

“Okay, then. Let’s move those guests over to the east wing and give them free room service for the evening. And please advise the night clerk not to book anyone else into the west wing tonight.” She reached for the phone. “In the meantime, I’ll have the furnace people come by and look at it right away.”

“Very good, Mrs. Mahoney.” With that, Baby Jane—ah, Mrs. Norman—turned smartly on her heel and disappeared. Rainey arranged for a service call, then tried to focus on the laundry contract again. It was a blur.

Beck. What the devil was she going to do about him? He just couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. After their tense encounter with Francine Yates, Rainey had gone out of her way to avoid physical contact with him. But it was tough. They lived together. They worked together. They occupied the same space almost all the time.

And, as much as she wanted to deny it, it wasn’t all Beck. Yes sir, a touch, a glance, it didn’t take much to get them both hot and bothered. They were fine at a distance, but the moment they got close, the air between them heated up like a blowtorch.

Rainey knew that in her case it was lust fueled by loneliness. With Beck, of course, it was just plain old lust.

Francine’s warning to watch her heart echoed in Rainey’s head a hundred times a day. It was sound advice, straight from the horse’s mouth. Take the advice! her brain urged. Ignore it! her hormones countered. Make love with the guy, just once, just to see what it would be like. You know you want to.