Ramona and the Renegade. Marie Ferrarella

pocket, his combination walkie-talkie/cell phone chirped. Gabe frowned at himself. Getting distracted chatting with a guest—however lovely—when he should be inside wasn’t like him. He’d already been gone too much that afternoon.

      “Something wrong?”

      “I’ve got to take this call. Excuse me.” He flipped open the phone and walked a few paces away. A consultation with the chef before dinner. Another crisis to deal with. The twinge of regret he felt surprised him. He turned back to his mystery girl. “Duty calls. Are you staying here long?”

      She hesitated. “I’m not sure. A few days, at least.”

      “Then back to Manhattan?”

      “Of course.”

      Time to go, he reminded himself. “Well, I hope I see you around before you leave,” he said.

      And tried not to feel like he’d lost something as he walked away.

      Chapter Two

      “You look like you’re having a good afternoon,” said Angie at the front desk as Hadley walked up.

      She was smiling, Hadley realized. It was probably a sad statement on the state of her personal life that it took so little to cheer her up. “Any chance you’ve got my room ready now?” she asked. “I checked in earlier.”

      “Let me see.” Angie leaned awkwardly toward her computer, trying to shift her stomach out of the way. She looked very pregnant, Hadley realized—like about ten months.

      Hadley cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to get personal, but should you really be up and around at this point?”

      “I know,” the receptionist said in amusement. “I look like I’m ready to drop any minute. Believe it or not, I’ve got another month to go. The doctor says Trot’s going to be our New Year’s present.”

      “Trot?”

      “My Hank’s a Red Sox fan. I wanted to name him Milo but I didn’t have a chance.”

      “Maybe he’ll be a distance runner,” Hadley said.

      Angie laughed. “Maybe.” She set the room folio on the polished maple counter. “So let’s see, you’re up on the third floor.” She passed Hadley a key on an ornate brass disk the size of a coaster and gestured at the wall of numbered pigeonholes behind her. “Just drop the key here on your way out and pick it up when you’re ready to head back to your room. Any questions?”

      It was a quaint arrangement that Hadley had only seen in the older hotels of Europe. Something about it made her feel connected, cared for. “I’m all set,” she told her. “Good luck with Trot.”

      Angie smiled. “The elevator is behind you. Enjoy your stay.”

      Next to the elevator, the broad grand staircase swept down, all rich carpeting and curving elegance. Hadley could imagine couples descending for dinner back in the old days, the women’s gloved hands on the arms of their tuxedoed escorts, their silken skirts trailing behind them as they made their entrance.

      And she found herself wishing she had someone to see it with.

      The polished brass doors of the elevator opened to reveal a spare-looking elderly man. “Good afternoon, miss,” he said, pulling back the accordioned metal gate. “My name’s Lester. Where can I take you?”

      “Third floor, please.” Hadley stepped on and watched him shut the gate. The control panel had no buttons, just a lever, right below the inspection certificate. “So just how old is this elevator?”

      “Original to the building.” He beamed. “Mr. Cortland wanted all the modern conveniences when he built the hotel. Got his friend Tom Edison to wire it for electricity.” The car began to rise smoothly. “Hot and cold running water and fire sprinklers in all of the rooms, even. That was a big deal back then.”

      “How long have you worked here?”

      He considered. “Oh, about fifty years. I started when she was in her prime and saw her through some dark times before Mr. Stone bought her and started turning things right.”

      She should have expected it, but the name still jolted her. “You mean Whit Stone?”

      “The same. Top drawer, a prince of a guy. He spent a week here every summer for almost as long as I can remember. ‘Course, when he started, I was on outside staff.” He gave a raffish smile. “These days, I have to take it easy a little.” The car stopped at her floor and Lester opened the gate. “Enjoy your stay, miss. I hope to see you again.”

      A prince of a guy. Top drawer. Not exactly the way her father described Whit. Hadley crossed the octagonal elevator lobby, her mind buzzing, and went through the double doors that led to her wing. Even the third floor boasted ten-foot ceilings and hallways twice as broad as any she’d seen at a hotel before. Antique fixtures on the walls cast a soft light over the striped wallpaper and rich floral hall runner. Brass plates engraved with room numbers in curling script adorned the doors.

      Hadley unlocked hers to a spill of golden sunlight through the windows that ran across nearly the entire wall. The room was enormous, bigger than the living room in her loft at home. She caught the scent of freesias from a small clutch sitting in a little vase on the bureau. A feather duvet covered the bed. Again, attention to detail. Someone cared about the guests. And in some obscure way she felt comforted, and some of her soul-sickness ebbed as she settled into one of the overstuffed wing chairs by the window.

      Gabe sat at his computer. The screen displayed the previous month’s occupancy charts, but he stared into space, remembering a pair of sober gray eyes sparking into laughter. Sometimes a small taste stuck with a person longest. Amid the quiet of snow and winterscape he’d talked with her just enough to know he wanted more.

      And then there was that instant when her eyes had darkened and something flashed between the two of them….

      He blinked and shook his head. What he needed was to finish preparing for his department heads’ meeting, not think about guests. Off-limit guests, he reminded himself firmly. And unless his little winter faerie had some pixie dust that would help bolster his midweek occupancy, she needed to be off his mind.

      The project to winterize the hotel for cold weather business five years before had cost a bundle. With Whit’s agreement, Gabe hadn’t tried to pay it off all at once, but continued to do the kind of necessary renovations a century-old building required. Whit had happily plowed most of his profits back into upkeep, hoping to rescue the Mount Jefferson from the decay it had been in when he’d bought it.

      Who knew what the new owners had planned?

      “Mr. Trask.”

      Gabe glanced up to see his administrative assistant at the door. “Yes, Susan?”

      “I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go home.”

      He glanced at his desk clock, stunned to see it was already after seven. “You were supposed to be off two hours ago.”

      “What about you? You were here when I got in.”

      Twelve hours and counting, to be specific. “Goes with the territory,” he said with a shrug and rose. “Anyway, I’m just about finished here. I’m going to do a quick walk-through and head out myself.”

      “Mr. Trask?”

      He turned in inquiry.

      “You’ve lost your badge again.”

      Gabe glanced down at his lapel and bit back a mild curse. He’d gotten the magnetized name tags to save wear and tear on clothing, especially his own. Unfortunately, they didn’t stick so well to jacket lapels if a person wasn’t careful about putting them on. And that afternoon, he’d been a little bit rushed and a little bit distracted by a pair of gray eyes. “Looks like the magnet flipped off again.”