Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks. Carol Finch

in his two cents’ worth. With great effort he kept his trap shut and ate his birthday cake.

      When the party crowd migrated to the living area to watch Will demonstrate his new electronic gadget that controlled the lights and catch the evening news, weather and sports, Jake took a long hard look at the other guests. It dawned on him—hit him like a lightning bolt, actually—that he was staring into his own bleak future when he gazed at these older men who’d worked themselves into anxiety attacks, heart seizures and strokes. He could be back here in twenty years, learning to take a more laid-back approach to life.

      Jeez, Louise! He might become a burden to his sisters who, by then, would have children of their own and additional family expenses. He’d be the shriveled up, burned-out uncle stuffed in the corner and his nieces and nephews would have to veer around him on their way out the door to enjoy life. He’d probably have to be spoon-fed meals because carpal tunnel syndrome would cause his hands and wrists to function improperly.

      Damn, he needed to chill out a little, he decided. He needed to find a hobby that he enjoyed and work it into his business routine…. He needed to take some time to stop and smell the roses….

      The epiphany made him bolt upright and take another look around the room at the older men who were drumming their fingers on the armrests of their chairs, tapping their feet, twitching nervously and squirming restlessly in their seats. Holy cow! He realized his fingers were clenched around his glass of iced tea and he was tapping his foot. He forced himself to relax and unwind.

      Okay, so maybe he was wound up tighter than a spring. He could fix that if he stayed the full two weeks and dedicated his time to recreational activity. Just because he made a pact with himself, there and then, to take his life at a less hectic pace didn’t mean he had to give up his devotion to his sisters and their new husbands. He could fulfill his professional responsibilities and keep a close family bond and still drop what he was doing when his sisters needed him. That would never change. Kim and Lisa would always be top priority because he’d made a commitment—financially and emotionally—to be there for them when needed. But he sure as hell didn’t want his sisters and brothers-in-law to have to care for him when he stumbled over the edge because he worked himself into an early collapse! After all, he was only good at relationships where others were dependent on him, same as Moriah was. He couldn’t function as the dependent in a relationship. It would feel too unnatural.

      Jake surged from his chair and strode purposely toward Tom Stevens who was lounging in the La-Z-Boy recliner. “Tom, I’d like a massage, first thing in the morning. Can you work me in?”

      Tom glanced up, his unibrow soaring up to his hair-line. “No kidding? Good for you, Jake. Sure thing. How about right after breakfast?”

      Jake nodded. “I’m there.”

      After Tom gave him two thumbs-up and flashed a toothy grin, Jake wheeled toward Kent, the bowlegged wrangler in charge of the stables and livestock. “Sign me up for a ride after my massage,” he requested. “And don’t put me on Ol’ Sally again. I want a horse with enough stamina and spirit to hold up for a two-hour ride.”

      Kent chuckled at Jake’s newfound enthusiasm for recreation. “You bet, pardner. Want some company or is this a solo ride?”

      “Solo,” Jake requested. “I plan to absorb the scenic countryside and do some in-depth personal meditation, if you don’t mind.”

      Kent shrugged. “Sure, whatever you need, Jake. I used to do some serious meditation after one of those crazed rodeo bulls launched me through the air, then tried to trample me when I hit the dirt. That’s why I’m here instead of ridin’ the suicide circuit. I woke up in the hospital one day with my ribs busted and my knee twisted from its socket. I realized there had to be an easier way to make a livin’.”

      “Ain’t that the truth,” Tom agreed as he massaged his bulky shoulder. “I used to be an offensive tackle for the Dallas Cowboys until a bruiser, who was bigger and meaner, laid me out and knocked me unconscious. He also separated me from a few teeth. I decided I was getting too old and brittle to butt heads and fly all over the country, living out of a suitcase.”

      “Same for me,” Chester Gray commented as he twisted in his chair to glance up at Jake. “I attacked the pro golf tour like a maniac for years. Got to where I couldn’t remember where I called home and booze was my most reliable companion.” He shook his sandy head and smiled ruefully. “Thanks to Moriah, I’m doing what I love and helping other folks take up the game of golf for pleasure and relaxation. Nothing makes me happier than giving a few pointers and then seeing one of the guests drive the ball down the fairway, after they’d whiffed it a few times without my help.”

      Jake didn’t know where Moriah had found this motley group, but obviously she was a decent judge of character when it came to handpicking her staff. No doubt, she’d taken them under wing and worked her recreational magic on them as well. He suspected these relationships she had developed with her staff had originated from need and dependence and progressed to friendship and loyalty. Everyone around here seemed to think Moriah hung the moon and made the sun shine.

      Well, Jake fully intended to take advantage of this resort, now that his eyes were open and his head was on straight. Yessiree, he’d have hobbies galore when he returned to his world. His sisters would stop fretting over him, because he’d no longer be Mr. Predictable who was stuck in a rut. He’d be Mr. All-Around from here on out.

      Resolved to making life-altering changes in his behavior, Jake hiked off to tend to his first order of business—apologizing to Moriah. His attraction to her was going to be at the bottom of his list of things to do at the resort, he promised himself. He’d view her only as a recreational director and friend. No more getting sidetracked by her enchanting face and tantalizing figure wrapped in those outrageous and wildly colorful clothes. He’d divert his interest and attention to one hobby after another. Hell, he’d be Mr. Hobby. No more fierce intensity and one-track business mind for him. He was a changed man!

      Jake was jostled from his thoughts by a feminine squawk that came from the area near cabin two. He sprinted through the darkness, dodging trees, to determine what had happened. He skidded to a halt and gnashed his teeth when he saw two silhouettes wrestling with one another.

      “Hey! What’s going on here!” he boomed.

      Jake’s arrival allowed Moriah to shove Robert Fullerton back into his own space. The man had followed her outside for his version of slap and tickle, after she’d managed to dodge his advances in the cabin. Damn, this jerk had a lot to learn about backing off and calming down.

      Oh sure, some guests flirted with her from time to time and she had her own way of sidestepping unwanted advances. Robert, however, didn’t respond as readily to the lack of interest she paid to his suggestive innuendoes. If the domineering chump didn’t back off she’d send Tom over to have a man-to-man talk with him. Tom had been called in a couple of times the past five years—usually with miraculous results.

      “Buzz off, pal,” Robert scowled when Jake advanced on him. “Sorry, birthday boy, but you’ll have to wait your turn. Moriah and I are getting acquainted right now—Whoa! Calm down, man!”

      Moriah gasped in surprise when Jake clenched his fists in the front of Robert’s dress shirt and jerked him clean off the ground. “That isn’t necessary,” she assured him, trying to step between the two men.

      “Yeah, it is,” Jake contradicted in a growl, never taking his eyes off the fifty-eight-year-old businessman. “Listen up, Bobby-boy, you behave yourself around Ms. Randell or I’ll be all over you like a bad rash. Are we clear on that?”

      Robert shoved himself away and made a big production of smoothing the wrinkles from his silk shirt. “Look, bozo, I happen to be very influential in—”

      “I don’t give a flying f—ig where your influence lies in the world outside Triple R,” Jake snapped brusquely. “Around here, you’re a guest and Ms. Randell is your recreational director. You treat her with the courtesy and respect she deserves. Starting now. Apologize.”

      Robert’s