.

to grab plenty of R & R.”

      “That’d be great,” Heath replied. After meeting his hot innkeeper, he now gave the weekend at least a chance of being more entertaining than the two-day nap he’d imagined it would be.

      “If you’ll give me a sec, I’ll find the—here it is.” She brandished a navy leather volume about the size of a high school yearbook. Embossed in elegant silver script across the front was Blueberry Inn.

      “Now, if I could just find a pen…”

      “Got one,” Heath said, reaching into the pocket of the sports jacket his brother had insisted he wear over his usual casual fare of jeans and a T-shirt. He handed over the pen, in the process, inadvertently brushing his fingers against Sadie’s. Instant chemistry tightened his stomach.

      “Thanks,” his hostess said, her shaky grin somehow leaving him with the impression that all wasn’t quite right. Had she felt the same electricity? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She tapped herself on the forehead. “I can’t seem to pull it together—I haven’t even had time to dress myself properly.” She gestured to her frayed cutoffs and snug pink tee. She looked proper enough to Heath.

      “Don’t sweat it,” he said, charmed by the warmth of her smile and her ability to laugh at herself. “I’ve had a few of those days myself.” Which was part of the reason he’d agreed to this stunt with his twin. Sure, there’d be some work involved in reviewing the inn, but mostly it offered Heath the chance for a much-needed break.

      “Thanks for understanding,” she said, rifling through the desk drawers. Registration forms? “I know they’re here somewhere,” Sadie murmured to herself with a cute furrowing of her eyebrows.

      Time for a reality check: the fact that Heath had even noticed her eyebrows, on top of her many other charms, could cause him nothing but trouble.

      Heath was at Blueberry Inn for only one reason, and that was to bail his brother out of a jam. He owed his twin for the way Hale had ultimately opened his eyes to Tess’s deception. The least he could do was cover while Hale was off chasing his secret career dream of becoming a champion drag racer. Sure, most guys would just take time off work to pursue their dreams, but Hale’s boss was a hard-nosed taskmaster. He didn’t permit moonlighting, and when he made an unusual assignment such as this one—for Hale to go into an establishment ASAP—he meant business. Apparently that same boss’s wife—also the money behind the publication—had been so enchanted with the inn during a recent stay that she wanted it featured in a special pullout section on entrepreneurial women in the next edition. According to Hale, the inn’s perfection made the awarding of a top rating of five silver spoons a mere formality.

      All of which was well and good for Heath’s brother to say, but insofar as Tess had taught Heath to despise liars, he hated the thought that his every word and action—even his name—over the long weekend would have to be false. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

      Besides which, Heath’s falsehoods wouldn’t harm Sadie Connelly. Unlike Tess’s lies, which had cost him and his company millions through corporate espionage. If Sadie Connelly was even half as talented in the kitchen as his brother claimed, she had nothing to sweat.

      As much as possible, Heath would relax and be himself, relishing the rare time away from what his brother referred to as his obsession of a career—video game designing. Heath would be the first to admit he’d put in hellacious hours of late, but what else did he have to do?

      It wasn’t as if he had anyone waiting for him at home. He didn’t even have a pet. Just himself. And another in a long line of lonely nights, a bowl of ramen noodles and whatever happened to be on ESPN.

      Boo hoo. Cry me a river.

      After what Tess had put him through, why would he even want more? The question was logical enough. Trouble was, he very much wanted more. He wanted a wife and kids and a family to call his own so badly that the yearning brought on an embarrassing ache.

      What was wrong with him?

      As a relatively good-looking and successful bachelor, he should’ve been having the time of his life. Not moping about what might have been. Certainly not about whether or not he’d ever find a woman—or love—again. But for as long as he could remember, his mom had always called him her sensitive son.

      Clear in his mind was the memory of riding his bike one flawless July afternoon when he’d been nine. Not a breath of wind, locusts troubling dusty weeds on either side of the dirt road and their monotonous hum. Riding along, counting the licks on a cherry Tootsie Pop, he’d come upon a bird, fluttering on the powdery shoulder. Pulling alongside to investigate, he’d seen that the small brownish-gray bird wasn’t indulging in a dust bath but was struggling at a far more solemn task. Its mate had been crushed.

      The little bird tried and tried to wake its companion, thrusting its beak under a broken wing, urging the female to fly.

      Fast as he could, Heath rode home to get his mother. She’d climbed on her own bike and dutifully followed. But now, as an adult, Heath knew there was nothing she could have done.

      By the time they’d returned, the male had exhausted himself and he sat alongside his mate shuddering with each breath.

      Heath had started to cry, begging his mom to do something, and she’d held him close, smoothing his hair and telling him love wasn’t easy. She’d promised him that one day, like the bird, he’d find a special girl, and when he married her, there’d be no guaranteeing forever. He’d just have to savor each day for the jewel it was.

      In meeting Tess, Heath had thought he’d found his jewel, only to discover, instead, cold, unyielding stone. Hardening his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder to an eight-paned window. He hated to think that the woman still held emotional power in his life.

      “Aha!” The innkeeper had found a stack of forms and now she took one from the top, shoving the rest behind the counter. “Once you fill this out, I’ll take you to your room.”

      Heath made quick work of his assignment, glad for the distraction from memories he’d just as soon forget.

      When he’d finished, Sadie retrieved a brass key ring with the number nine engraved on it, then stepped from behind the desk. “Want me to get that?” She nodded toward his bag.

      “No, thanks.” A chivalrous streak had him reaching for it himself.

      “Okay, then,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away so you can relax before lunch.”

      Considering the caliber of the present view, Heath was pleased to oblige. The woman his brother had described as one of the premier hostesses in the country, well-rounded in all types of cooking and the genteel manners of the sort to instantly put the most disgruntled guest at ease, was also a serious looker. At least five-ten with an abundance of curves.

      Heath had been so busy admiring her endless legs that it had barely registered how tough a time she’d had checking him in. Not that it mattered—it just seemed odd.

      Up curved stairs and then down a wide hall lined with antique side tables and chairs and bucolic landscapes. His guide stopped before a door, easing the key into the lock.

      “Here you go,” she said, turning the latch and door, then stepping back with a flourish. “This is the Mark Twain Suite and features whitewashed walls in honor of Huck Finn and memorabilia of the author’s life. One of our most prized acquisitions is this letter to his daughter, Clara, written in 1904.”

      “Um, thanks,” Heath said. Not that he wasn’t impressed with the room’s overall ambience, but Sadie’s delivery style sounded rushed—as if she’d been up all night memorizing the description. “How long have you been running this place?”

      “Five years.” She flashed him a smile. “This inn’s my pride and joy.”

      He nodded, unsure of what to say. Something about her mannerisms struck him as off—especially