Dying To Play. Debra Webb

that bore the legend, We’re Spending Our Children’s Inheritance. Would she and Bob ever be like that, so close after years together that they were practically twins? She frowned. Somehow, she couldn’t picture it.

      She shifted, trying to surreptitiously adjust the teddy she wore beneath her sweater and leggings. The black silk lingerie, cut up to here and down to there was a far cry from her usual plain-Jane underwear. She felt supersexy wearing it.

      “Are you telling me there’s not one single room available in the entire resort?” The voice of the older man in front of her rose over the murmur of conversation in the lobby.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Kates, but we’re booked solid. We don’t have any rooms available until next Wednesday.”

      “Come along, dear. I’m sure we can find a room in Winter Park.” The woman tugged at her husband’s arm. “Next time we’ll call ahead.”

      “I guess we’d better,” the husband grumbled, turning away from the desk. “I want to get settled for the night before that storm blows in.”

      “Yes, Miss, can I help you?”

      Cassie stepped up to the desk. “I believe Bob Hamilton is registered here?” She put on her best “trust me, I’m an honest person” smile and proceeded to lie. “He’s expecting me.”

      The clerk punched the keys of a computer. “Oh, yes, Ms. Patterson. He mentioned you would be arriving today.”

      The smile remained frozen on Cassie’s face, mainly because she was too stunned to move. “Ms. P-Patterson?”

      “Yes.” The clerk looked up from the computer. “You are Mary Ann Patterson, aren’t you?”

      “Yes. Of course.” What was another lie when she was in this so deep already?

      “Suite 418.” The clerk handed her a key and slid a computer printout toward her. “If you’ll sign here.”

      She scrawled something she hoped was unintelligible and picked up the key. Maybe there’d been some mistake. Maybe they’d gotten the name wrong. Maybe there were two Bob Hamiltons here this weekend.

      Right. And maybe she’d win the lottery next week and wake up four inches taller and five pounds lighter.

      She took the stairs up to the fourth floor two at a time, heart pounding from more than exertion. If she was going to chicken out, now was the time to do it. She could find a phone, call Jill to come pick her up and Bob would never know.

      Nothing would be any different between them and she’d either go on being “good old Cassie” or she’d go berserk one day and strangle him with his own dry cleaning.

      No. She straightened and settled the pack more firmly on her shoulders. She wasn’t going to quit this time.

      Suite 418 was at the end of a carpeted hallway. She slowed her steps, trying to remember what she’d planned to say, but all she could come up with was who the hell is Mary Ann Patterson?

      A petite brunette emerged from the elevator in front of her. She wore high-heeled black leather boots and brown suede leggings that clung to her thighs like a second skin. Her fisherman’s sweater looked expensive and her perfectly styled hair could only have come from a high-class salon. She was the kind of woman who had never in her life been in danger of being invisible.

      Cassie hung back, wanting this stranger to be safely in her room before she confronted Bob. The woman strode down the hall, a tapestry flight bag wheeling behind her. The farther down the hall she walked, the tighter the knot in Cassie’s stomach grew. By the time the woman knocked on the door of 418, Cassie wasn’t even surprised.

      “Sweetie, so glad you made it ahead of the storm!” Bob’s voice echoed down the hallway as the door opened. Cassie ducked behind a potted palm, peeking through the fronds to watch Bob envelop Puss in Boots in a hug. She didn’t even bother trying to convince herself that the woman might, after all, be a business associate, since one of Bob’s hands was firmly caressing the woman’s suede-clad behind.

      She wasn’t sure if the lump in her throat was a stifled scream or incipient nausea. Rather than let loose with either in the hallway, she bolted back along the corridor and down the stairs. What a mess she was in now—stranded with a snowstorm on its way, a bottle of champagne rapidly warming in her backpack, a French lace teddy creeping up her butt and no room at the inn.

      GUY WALTERS unlocked the door to the family condo and dumped his bags in the entryway. He’d spent so many weekends here over the years that the rooms were as familiar to him as his own apartment. His dad had taught him to ski here at Aspen Creek. His mother had taken him ice skating on the resort’s pond. A weekend here always meant sleigh rides, marshmallow roasts and hot chocolate. Even after he’d moved out on his own, this was a place where he could always find happy memories and a warm welcome.

      Today, the condo was cold and the air smelled of dust and disinfectant. The furniture looked old and worn. The rooms were too empty, reminding him that he was past the age when he’d expected to be coming to Aspen Creek with a wife and children of his own in tow.

      He frowned and went to turn up the thermostat. Back in Boulder, getting away for the weekend had seemed like a good idea. He’d planned to ski a little, catch up on his reading, grab a few drinks in the bar and kick back and relax. Now that he was here, though, with the snow coming down and long days in this empty apartment stretching out ahead of him, the idea felt like a recipe for depression.

      He shrugged off his jacket and started to toss it onto the sofa, but the crackle of paper distracted him. He removed the envelope from the pocket and tapped it against his palm. So Dave was getting married. The last of the Boulder Bandidos, besides Guy himself, to take the plunge. Steve and Victor were already fathers and last he’d heard, Jake’s wife was expecting. They’d traded nights on the town for Happy Meals and evenings around the VCR, watching The Lion King video for the twenty-seventh time.

      He sank down onto the sofa, still staring at the envelope. The scary thing was, that kind of cozy evening at home was starting to sound not so bad to him. Better than a weekend at a snowed-in resort, with no one to share it with.

      He tossed the invitation onto the coffee table and shoved his hands into his pockets. If he was going to spend the weekend moping, he’d be better off heading back to Boulder now. He had plenty of work to occupy him at the store and in town he could probably find a couple of pals to hang out with tomorrow night.

      He walked to the window and pulled back the long drapes. The snow was coming down so hard he could barely make out the ski slopes beyond. They’d already shut down the lift, not a good sign. Chances of getting home in this whiteout seemed pretty slim.

      He fetched the sack of groceries from the entryway and began unloading the contents into the refrigerator. While he worked, he popped open a beer and took a long drink. Maybe being stranded here alone this weekend wouldn’t be so bad. It would give him a chance to take a good look at his life and where he was headed.

      He closed the fridge and sagged back against the door, frowning. The problem was, he didn’t have to look at his life very closely to know he didn’t particularly like what he saw.

      CASSIE SANK INTO an empty chair by the lobby fireplace and tried to think what to do next. She could call Jill, but her friend hadn’t even had a chance to make it home yet. Besides, from the looks of the snow falling outside, the roads wouldn’t stay open much longer. She was stuck here for the night. While she was trying to sleep in this uncomfortable chair, Bob and “Sweetie” would be warming the sheets upstairs. The thought made her want to gag.

      She stared into the fire, as if she might find Bob’s face smoldering among the flames. She’d told herself coming up here that this weekend was her last chance to save their relationship, and it turned out there was nothing left to save.

      Looking back, she could see the signs—his sudden interest in work, his unexplained absences and most of all, the fact that their sex life had been all but nonexistent for the past six months. She’d known something