River’s End

yellow. But everything exuded such an aura of welcome and settled comfort that it might have been exactly so for a century.
    The check-in was quick, efficient and friendly, and after having assured the clerk he could handle his baggage himself, he carried his bags, a package of information and his key up two squat sets of stairs in the main lobby and down a hallway to the right. He’d requested a suite out of habit and because he preferred a separate area to set up his work. It was smaller than the rooms he remembered sharing with his parents, but certainly not cramped.
    There was a nap-taking sofa, a small but sturdy desk, a table where guides and literature on the area were fanned. The art— running to watercolor prints of local flora—was better than decent, and the phone would support his modem. He glanced at the view, pleased to have been given the side facing the back so it was untainted by cars. He dropped his suitcase on the chest at the foot of the sleigh bed of varnished golden wood and tossed the lid open. As his contribution to unpacking, he removed his shaving gear and dumped it on the narrow shelf over the white pedestal sink in the adjoining bath.
    He considered the shower—he’d been in the car since six a.m.—and thought of the beer he might find in the lobby bar. After a mild debate he decided to take the first, then go hunt up the second.
    He stripped, letting his clothes lay where they fell, then diddled with the controls of the shower until the water came out fast and hot. The minute he stepped under the spray, he groaned in pleasure.
    Right decision. Brady, he thought as he let the water beat on his head. And after the beer, he’d wander around, scope out the place. He wanted to get a feel for the owners, to see if he could judge by how the staff and guests spoke of them which one of the MacBrides would be the best to approach.
    He wanted to go over to the Center, find Olivia. Just look at her awhile. He’d do that in the morning, he thought. After he got his bearings and a good night’s sleep.
    He toweled off, tugged on jeans. He gave some consideration to actually putting away the clothes in his bag. He opted instead to just dig out a shirt, when there was a hard rap on the door.
    Noah quickly grabbed a shirt and carried it with him to the door. He recognized her instantly. Later he would wonder why the recognition had been so immediate, and so intense. She’d certainly changed.
    Her face was thinner, honed into sharp planes. Her mouth was firmer, still full and unpainted as it had been at nineteen, but it didn’t strike him as innocent any longer. And that gave him one hard tug of annoyance and regret.
    He might have noted it wasn’t smiling in welcome if he hadn’t been dealing with the ridiculous and completely unexpected flash of pleasure.
    Her hair had darkened to a color that reminded him of the caramels Mike’s mother had always melted down at Halloween and swirled onto apples. And she’d lopped it off. Lopped off all that gorgeous shiny hair. And yet it suited her better this way. On another woman he supposed the short, straight cut with the fringe of bang would have been called pixyish. But there was nothing fairylike about the woman in the doorway with her tall and leanly athletic build.
    She smelled like the woods and carried a stoneware bowl filled with fresh fruit. He felt the foolish grin break out on his face and could think of nothing to say but: “Hi.”
    “Compliments of River’s End Lodge.” She thrust the bowl at him, straight into the gut and with enough force to earn a grunt from him.
    “Ah, thanks.”
    She was in the room in one long stride that had him backing up automatically. When she slammed the door at her back, he lifted his eyebrows. “Do you come with the fruit? They hardly ever give you complimentary women in California.”
    “You have a hell of a nerve, sneaking in here this way.”
    Okay, he decided, all right, it wasn’t going to be a friendly reunion. “You’re right, absolutely. I don’t know what I was thinking of, calling ahead for reservations, registering at the desk that way.” He set the bowl down, gingerly rubbed his stomach. “Look, why don’t we take a minute to—”
    “I’ll give you a minute.” She rammed a finger into his chest. “I’ll give you a minute, then you can get your butt back to Los Angeles. You have no right coming here this way.”
    “Of course I have a right. It’s a goddamn hotel.” He lifted