Operation: Reunited. Linda O. Johnston

and took another mouthful.

      So what if he’d bought a mild salsa at the gourmet food shop? He obviously liked things hot.

      Cole had liked things hot, too….

      Alexa glanced around the room. Vane was staring at them. She didn’t like the fractious gleam in his eye.

      She escaped into the kitchen, greeting the eager Phantom, who wriggled behind his gate, with a quick pat before she washed her hands again.

      When John had finished and signed for his meal, she expected him to go into the parlor with Vane and the rest of the guests. Instead, he joined her in the kitchen.

      “You look as though you could use some help. How about a dishwasher? I work cheap.”

      “How cheap?”

      “You can’t get cheaper than free.”

      “But—” Before she could voice any objections, he had tied a plain, lace-free apron around his waist and dug into the pile of dishes mounded in and around the sink. “You don’t need to get them spotless,” she said resignedly. “Just scrape the visible food off and pile them into the dishwasher.”

      “Good. I have to admit, I’m not the world’s best dishwasher, only its best home improvements salesman.”

      “And bull thrower.” She felt her mouth quirk into a grin.

      “Ah, you were listening in on some of my conversations in the dining room,” he said with an arch smile. “I thought so.”

      As usual in his presence, Alexa flushed. “You don’t want me to have eavesdropped. If I did, I’d know how nosy you are.”

      “Nosy? Me?” The tone of his deep voice feigned hurt.

      “I heard more questions from you than on a TV game show.”

      “I’m darn good at games,” he said with a raise of one straight, dark brow and a roguish curve to his lips.

      “I’ll bet you are.” Had he meant the suggestive undercurrent to his words? Alexa was nearly certain he had.

      How was she going to get through the rest of the evening here, with this man interrupting her work, her thoughts? Her kitchen was large, but his presence made it seem as tiny as his bedroom.

      Hadn’t she thought only a few minutes before how foolish it was for a married woman to flirt with another man in front of her husband? Whether she liked it or not, Alexa was engaged. Her fiancé was in the next room.

      She glanced at the ring that weighed her hand down as if the stone it held was lead rather than a huge diamond. She didn’t dare end the engagement yet. It would be playing with fire for her to defy Vane…now.

      She would be playing with fire by flirting with John.

      She couldn’t exactly throw him out bodily. Nor did she want to touch that substantial body to try…did she? He wore navy trousers with his lighter blue shirt, and they looked great on him. His movements with the dirty dishes were decisive but deft. She had no fear that he’d fumble and drop them, despite the large size of his hands.

      What would it feel like to have those hands stroking her…?

      Why was she thinking such thoughts?

      Whatever else Vane was, he had been a gentleman about not pushing her to have sex when she wanted nothing to do with him. And she’d wanted nothing at all to do with him for the months since he had seized control of their inn.

      But John had reminded her of Cole. The very recollection of Cole dredged up yearning, libidinous feelings that she had kept hidden deep inside for ages.

      Forcing her thoughts back to reality, she continued cleaning, trying to pretend John wasn’t there. That was hard to do, as he helped her stack dishes in the industrial-size dishwasher.

      His curiosity had seemed unbridled as he had tossed questions to Vane’s guests. Vane had noticed, which wasn’t good. John had also been kind to work with the couple at his table, teaching them English.

      John O’Rourke, surprisingly sexy home improvements salesman, was a man of many facets.

      Eventually, they were finished with the dishes. “Thank you,” she said.

      “Anytime.” He went to the shelves where she kept seasonings, and eyed them. “Looks like you’re partial to hot stuff.”

      “The hotter the better,” she said.

      It was his turn to look at her in surprise. He leered, then laughed. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, then left the kitchen.

      ALEXA TOOK HER TIME putting the mounds of cookware away, making lists of dishes for the next day’s meals and ensuring she had the ingredients…ordinary activities. Or activities that would have been ordinary had the circumstances been normal.

      The truth was, she was trapped here, at her own bed-and-breakfast. She knew Vane was involved in something at best illegal, at worst malevolent. The guests—possibly terrorists—had all been invited by him…except one. And that guest was a puzzle, too.

      Surrounded by people, Alexa was alone. She could trust no one. She could rely only on herself.

      When she couldn’t think of further excuses to stay in the kitchen, she released Phantom from behind the gate. She knelt to give the cute, intense puppy a big hug, then rose. “Come on,” she said, leading him out.

      She hadn’t intended to go into the parlor. She did not want to mingle with the people Vane had brought here. But she spied John in a hard-backed seat in the midst of them. They were grouped on the overstuffed sofa and assortment of chairs, all turned to face one wall so they could watch television—all the better to perfect their use of U.S. customs and language, she surmised. They congregated together like this a lot.

      For just a moment, she leaned on the doorjamb to observe—because she was curious, she told herself, and not because she had any interest in studying John. Phantom lay at her feet. The crowd had the TV tuned to a quiz show, something called “Millions on Your Mind”—a clone of several other popular programs. Cheers and cat-calls erupted from the small crowd of viewers in her house. What were they up to?

      “It’s koa wood,” cried John, his large frame raised from the chair. “From Hawaii. That’s the answer.” He lifted his hands and swatted the air, as if he were somehow tossing his knowledge to the contestant on the TV screen.

      “Are you certain?” asked Jill, who sat beside him—of course. “Ko-a?”

      “Yes. It’s a great shade of golden red when it’s polished, and has a unique grain. That’s definitely it.”

      Alexa felt the chile rellenos that she had hurriedly downed in the kitchen begin to churn in her stomach. Koa wood. Wood.

      Cole Rappaport had been an expert on trees. When they had come here to Skytop Lake, he had pointed out the various types of pine trees, including ponderosa, Coulter and white, plus some of the most common deciduous trees—Pacific dogwood, white alder, California black oak. He had been able to tell them apart by their size and shape, their bark, their leaves. Plus, he had described what their grain was like inside.

      Cole would have known the answer to this quiz show question, too. Cole knew everything about trees.

      An icy shiver passed through Alexa. She studied John once more. Yes, she still saw some resemblance to Cole, but it was all superficial—height, build. And handsome? Oh, yes. Definitely. Incredibly. But he didn’t look like Cole.

      And Cole, whether she could accept it or not, was dead.

      ALEXA COULDN’T SLEEP that night. Instead, she stood outside her bedroom, on the balcony at the rear that ran the width of the B & B’s second story and matched the one at the front of the house. She did not bother to flip on its light, preferring to stay in the dark.

      Preferring not to advertise