Cowboys & Angels. Vicki Lewis Thompson
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Trey to Jared’s group would make an issue out of the situation, so she’d leave the schedule as it was. But she had to smile when she noticed that Jared had all women except for a guy named Watkins, and she had all men.
Besides Trey, Elle would be working with Alex Keller, Nash Bledsoe, Jeb Branford and two of the Chance brothers, Gabe and Nick. Elle hadn’t met any of them, although she certainly recognized the names of the Chance boys. There was a third brother, Jack, but apparently he wasn’t into skiing lessons.
All the men except Alex Keller had checked the beginner box on the sign-up sheet. Alex had checked the box indicating he had some experience, which meant he might be willing to help the others. All in all, it should be a fun morning. She loved taking nonskiers and turning them into enthusiastic fans of the sport.
As she considered whether to hit the sack early to be ready for tomorrow’s activities, her cell phone chimed. For some reason, Amy, the bartender on duty tonight, was calling her. Elle picked up her phone. “Hey, Amy.”
“Unless you’re in your jammies already, you should get yourself down here.”
“I was almost in my jammies. What’s happening?”
“One of the guys from the Last Chance is performing with the band and he is hot. I know you’re a country fan. Come down and I’ll put you to work behind the bar so you’ll have an excuse to hang around.”
Elle had become enamored of country music in the past year, and hearing it live was always a treat. Besides, she didn’t feel tired enough to go to bed yet. “Thanks, I’ll be right there.” Disconnecting the phone, she ran a comb through her hair, reapplied her lipstick, popped a mint and grabbed her room key. She’d helped Amy behind the bar a few times before, and she liked the job.
On her way downstairs, she breathed in the scent of Christmas. Serenity went all-out this time of year, and she liked spending the holidays here. Each guest room door had its own fresh wreath, complete with a couple of cinnamon sticks tucked into a big red bow.
Staff members didn’t get wreaths, but they were all given small trees to decorate. Hers was sitting in a corner of her room, waiting for her to get busy with lights and ornaments. Until she did, she could enjoy the fifteen-foot blue spruce in the lobby, which sparkled with lights and elegant glass balls. Pine boughs, pinecones and festive ribbons decorated the check-in desk.
The bar opened off the lobby, so the music drifted toward her as she walked past the Christmas tree toward the heavy double doors inset with stained glass. Someone was singing in a husky baritone that tickled her nerve endings.
“Going in to hear our new star?” called Ralph from the front desk.
“Yeah, I’m told he’s pretty good. Amy is letting me help behind the bar.”
Ralph laughed. “Have fun. The women tell me he looks pretty good, too.”
“I’m just here for the music, Ralph.”
“That’s what they all say.”
As Elle grasped the brass handle and opened the door, she had a premonition about who this sexy country singer might be, but she discounted it. The universe wouldn’t be so generous as to give the bodacious Trey Wheeler a great singing voice, too.
Obviously the universe was exactly that generous. Sitting on a stool in front of the mike, strumming his guitar and crooning a solo love song, was the man she was determined to avoid, the man every woman in the room was fixated on. The rest of the band was silent, not that they would have been noticed if they had decided to play backup.
Trey’s face was shielded by the lowered brim of his hat, and he seemed completely absorbed in his music. He cradled the guitar in his lap. One booted foot rested on the floor and the other was propped on a rung of the stool. His supple fingers moved up and down the guitar’s polished neck in a sensuous dance as his voice flowed over her, intimate as a caress.
Lost in a daze of feminine appreciation, she stood motionless in the doorway. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Nobody laughed. No glasses clinked. Trey had them all in the palm of his hand.
Then he looked up, as if he’d sensed her come in, and he gazed straight into her eyes.
Her breath caught. He was no longer singing to some unidentified lover. He was singing to her. The passionate lyrics spilled from his lips with such longing that she took a step closer. His slow smile told her he’d noticed, and she halted, embarrassed by how he’d hypnotized her.
Mercifully, the song ended before Elle lost all sense of propriety. After the raucous applause died down, Trey stepped back and the band launched into a lively swing tune. Another guitarist moved up to the mike to belt out the lyrics, and Elle hurried over to the bar.
Amy, who wore her dark hair piled on top of her head, grinned at her. “Told you.”
“Yes, ma’am, you did.” Elle lifted the hinged part of the bar and scooted inside. “The thing is, I kind of know him already.”
“You do? Then you get dibs. But if you don’t want him, then— Oh, crap. I see orders coming in. We’ll talk later.”
The next twenty minutes were a flurry of drink orders and washing glasses. But at the first lull, Amy brought up the subject immediately. “So how do you know him? Please tell me he’s an old family friend and you think of him like a brother.”
“I wish.” Elle told her about last spring’s incident involving Trey, and their chance meeting in the gift shop today.
“My God, that means he wrote that song about you! He introduced it by saying he’d been rescued by an angel. That totally explains why he focused on you for the last part of the song.”
“He wrote it about me?” Elle’s cheeks warmed. “That’s sort of...”
“Romantic. It’s romantic, Elle. Seems like you hooked him good by going all mystery woman on him for eight months. I envy the hell out of you. He’s mighty fine.”
“I wasn’t trying to hook him.”
“You did, anyway. Don’t look now, but he’s coming over here and he looks determined.”
Elle turned, and sure enough, Trey was striding toward the bar carrying his guitar case. Her breath hitched. “Maybe he wants a drink.”
“I think he wants you, chica.”
Elle had to admit Amy was probably right. The heat in Trey’s eyes was unmistakable.
He set down his guitar case and leaned on the bar. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Elle.”
“Amy needed some help.”
Amy glanced away, but was unsuccessful at muffling a snort of laughter.
“Hmm.” He didn’t appear to be buying that. “I’m glad you did, especially because I happened to be singing your song.”
“I...I didn’t realize you were a musician.” Her resistance to this gorgeous man was fading fast. No one had ever written a song about her. She liked to think she wasn’t susceptible to such romantic gestures, but the butterflies in her stomach signaled otherwise.
“Could we go somewhere and talk?”
“You’re not going to play anymore?”
He shook his head. “That’s enough for tonight.”
“Amy might need me to stay.”
“Nope,” Amy said. “Thanks for the help, but I can handle it.”
Elle took a deep breath. “Okay, then. We can go out in the lobby. There are some comfy chairs in front of the fire.”
He seemed about to comment on that suggestion, but then he didn’t. “All right. Lead the way.” But the minute they were out the door, he put a hand on her arm. “I’d rather go somewhere more private than the lobby.”
She