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

She grinned at his ferocious scowl. “Then, of course, your sisters will be cheerfully reimbursed.”

      “Real cute, Miss Chipper,” he muttered sarcastically.

      “A compliment! Thank you kindly, Mr. Predictable,” she gushed as she shouldered through the doorway.

      “Good God…” Jake halted on the threshold, his verbal sparring obviously forgotten. He stared at the interior of the cabin in such frantic horror that Moriah nearly burst out laughing at his reaction. “There’s no TV, no radio, no phone, no…” His voice gave out as his goggle-eyed gaze circled the room to appraise the overstuffed, sprawl-all-over-me couch and come-here-and-let-me-rub-you-all-over massage recliner. Then his astounded gaze leaped to the Murphy bed that folded down from the cedar-paneled walls.

      Moriah watched his comical reaction to the simply furnished room that was equipped with soothing music, designed to relax tense guests, and decorated with the peaceful landscape paintings that depicted the timeless essence of snow-covered mountains, a rippling seashore and a rolling prairie. Most of her guests suffered minimal culture shock when they first arrived at the resort, but Jake reacted noticeably and made no attempt whatsoever to disguise his disapproval. Clearly, electronic-gadget withdrawal had hit him hard and fast.

      He gaped at her, as if he’d been sentenced to two weeks in torturous hell. “You can’t be serious!” he choked out. “What the devil am I supposed to do with myself in this cabin for two tormenting weeks? And don’t give me that crap about tuning in to my inner self again or I’ll have to strangle you!”

      He looked so thunderstruck and dismayed that she reflexively reached out to give him a consoling pat on the arm. Moriah was astonished at the tension pulsing through him. Lord, the poor man had no idea how desperately he needed to escape the rat race.

      “Everything is going to be fine, Jake. You aren’t going to self-destruct in this unfamiliar environment, I promise.”

      “Yeah, right. I’m self-destructing as we speak,” he said, and snorted.

      “We have several activities scheduled to make your transition easier. We have a nine-hole golf course and the nearby river provides excellent fishing. There’s horseback riding, a hiking trail, indoor swimming, canoeing, paddleboating, a spacious hot tub and horseshoe games.”

      He wrenched his arm free from her light grasp and then glowered laser beams at her. “I haven’t played golf in ten years. I’m not going to watch a damn cork bob on the river while trying to catch a blasted fish. I have a pool in my apartment complex if I want to use it. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a kid, which is fine by me. And there’s no way in hell that I’m taking up the game of horseshoes unless I can pitch them around your neck!”

      His voice rose to a shout. Moriah winced and cautioned herself not to lose her temper. None of her other guests put up this kind of fuss. Jake had been goading her for nearly two hours, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let him rile her, she promised herself fiercely.

      In a burst of bad temper Jake lurched around and stalked over to the designated kitchen area in the far corner. “Great,” he muttered sourly. “Three feet of cabinet and counter space, plus a piddly little sink.” He jerked open a drawer, then shot her another seething glance. “What? No knife so I can slit my wrists and end this torture?” He hitched his thumb toward the small bathroom, then leveled her with another glare. “No soap-on-a-rope so I can hang myself, I suppose?”

      She tried out another encouraging smile on him, not that it did a whit of good. If anything, it seemed to infuriate him further. Moriah was pretty sure Jake held her personally accountable for the anger simmering through him. “No knives or ropes, but I do have a puppy to keep you company. Pets have a calming influence on people.”

      He gave her one of those don’t-even-think-about-it glowers before she pivoted to intercept Chester Gray, the golf course manager and groundskeeper, who strode up the wooden porch with the pooch cradled in his arms.

      “Thanks, Chester,” she murmured as she cuddled the pup against her chest.

      “You bet, Mori. Tell Jake the movie starts in forty-five minutes and Anna has his supper tray heated.”

      Scratching behind the pup’s ear, Moriah pivoted to face Jake who growled ferociously. The puppy huddled fearfully in her arms.

      “You expect me to take care of that spitwad of a dog?” he muttered crossly. “Think again, my dear Mo. You don’t mind if I call you Mo, do you? It’s not nearly as stuffy and sophisticated as Moriah.”

      Leave it to Jake to throw her words in her face. She angled her head and appraised the frown that caused his thick brows to form a V over his glittering obsidian eyes. “You really aren’t taking this well, are you?”

      “Gee, ya think?” he said, then snorted. “How many more times do I have to express my displeasure before you get it through your dense blond head that I want no part of this stress management crapola!”

      Moriah willfully overlooked the dumb-blonde wise-crack, giving it the lack of recognition it deserved, and scratched beneath the puppy’s chin. “As I was saying,” she went on determinedly, “we take in the unwanted dogs from the animal shelter in town to serve as companions for our guests. According to statistics, animals have a soothing effect on—”

      He waved her off with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Don’t start with me. I don’t want a dog. I don’t want to be here. Do you hear me?”

      Moriah smiled bravely in the face of his booming tirade. “Yes I do, but I’m not sure my guest in cabin number one heard you loud and clear.”

      He bared his teeth and flashed her the queen mother of all glares. She smiled—with considerable effort. “The dog food and bowls are on the floor of the closet. The pup is housebroken.”

      “Well, I’m not,” he smarted off.

      Moriah bit back a grin, then glanced sideways to see Anna Jefferies ambling up the stone walkway. “Ah, here comes supper. Anna must’ve given up on me.”

      “Supper?” he said caustically. “I figured Spitwad and I were supposed to rough it tonight and share the dog food.”

      Moriah set the pup on the floor and exited to take the tray Anna held out to her.

      “I could hear him yelling at two hundred yards,” Anna murmured, grinning. “He’s going to take special effort, I’d say.”

      “He’ll be fine once he calms down and accepts his fate.” She hoped.

      When Anna reversed direction and hiked off, Moriah carried the covered tray inside and set it on the small drop-leaf table. “Here’s your supper, Jake.”

      “Ah, good. A reason to live. For a while there, I wasn’t sure there was one.”

      She ignored his wiseass remarks. She predicted she’d be doing a lot of that during his two-week stay. “We’ll be expecting you to join us for the movie this evening. You can meet the other guests.”

      “And you can hold your breath waiting for me to show up,” he snapped.

      Moriah did her best to ignore his hostility—again. “We don’t watch highly intense adventure movies at the resort. Just lighthearted comedies and such.”

      “No trashy porno?” he asked. “No, of course not. What was I thinking? We wouldn’t want to get all these maxed-out businessmen fired up, would we?”

      “No, we wouldn’t,” she agreed. “It might upset the inner self.”

      “You can take your psychobabble and stick it where the sun—”

      Moriah promptly shut the door before he finished voicing his insult. Rightfully, she should be annoyed with her belligerent guest. Instead, she found him amusing, entertaining and very different from her older guests. She knew Jake was fighting back the only way he knew how—by lashing out at her in frustration.

      And