Suiteheart Of A Deal. Wendy Etherington
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robin’s egg blue. Rainey sighed with pleasure—until she realized what Beck had just said.
“What do you mean by up?” she asked. “Exactly how far up are we going? And how are we getting there?”
“Eight kilometers, on foot. That’s about five miles, if you prefer the linear to the metric measurement.”
Eight kilometers? Good grief! Rainey struggled to recall the last thing she had climbed. Oh, yeah. The little ladder astride the bunk beds in Dana’s bedroom. Twenty years ago. Terrific.
“Please tell me we’re not going to be rappelling off the side of anything!” she cried.
He shook his head. “Not today. That’s next week. Today we’re just hiking. That’s about all you city types can handle on a first run.”
In the public parking lot at the mouth of the trail, they encountered two of the giggly young clerks from Nate Frome’s office—a petite blonde with a Kewpie doll mouth, and a lanky brunette who couldn’t peel her eyes off Beck for a second. Looking clear through Rainey, she whined, “Is it true what everybody is saying, Beck? That you’re married?” She made married sound like poisoned.
“’Fraid so, ladies. This is my wife, Rainey.” Beck draped his arm around Rainey’s shoulders and drew her close. She put her arm around him, and they both beamed foolishly at the young women.
“How do you do, Mrs. Mahoney?” the blonde asked politely. Rainey blinked. Mrs. Mahoney? Maybe they should have talked about that name thing, too. Oh, well, it went with the territory, she supposed.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied.
The women immediately dismissed her and started to chatter at Beck. Relieved, Rainey slipped out from under his arm—it felt a little too right—and took another look around.
“You know, you’re putting a big dent in my fan club,” Beck joked after his admirers bounced off in the direction of the trail.
Rainey rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, some dent!”
Laughing, Beck fished his backpack out of the trunk. He had made sandwiches for them, and brought fruit along, too. While Rainey appraised the steep, tree-lined cliffs facing them, he took something out of the backpack. “Rainey?” He tossed it to her. It was a necklace—a whistle, actually, suspended from a long shoelace.
She eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this for?”
“Bears,” he said without looking at her. “The trail will be nearly deserted today. Every now and then, we’ll give it a blow, just to let them know we’re here.”
Rainey gasped. “Bears! Beck Mahoney, you didn’t say anything about bears!”
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said as if she were a hopeless worrywart. “It’s just a precaution, that’s all.”
She nodded and murmured, “Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe that for one minute!
They began the long, slow ascent. Beck went first, occasionally reaching back to help Rainey step up to a high ledge, or get over an outcropping of sharp rock. The mountainside was steep in some places, mercifully flat in others. Whenever they reached a level place, Rainey fell to the ground, gasping for air and begging for mercy.
“Buck up there, woman!” Beck teased. “It’s a long way up.”
Between the infrequent plateaus conversation proved impossible. It took every ounce of breath Rainey had just to blow the whistle. Beck had been right; the trail was seldom used at this time of year. But once in a while, when they stopped to rest, small groups of hikers overtook them.
At the halfway point, two stunning women about Rainey’s age passed by. They were moving at a good clip, and neither of them had so much as broken a sweat. Rainey, on the other hand, was drenched. Long ago she had peeled off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. Her skimpy T-shirt was damp, her face smudged, her upper arms scratched and bloody from numerous encounters with prickly branches.
She wanted to kill the women. Especially when one of them drawled, “Hi, Beck. Let me know if it doesn’t work out,” before tossing her chestnut mane in Rainey’s face and continuing along the trail. Beck’s only reaction was to check Rainey for her reaction. Seeing the stunned disbelief in her eyes, he threw back his head and roared.
The climb took nearly four hours. At the top they paused and surveyed the scene. Rainey’s jaw dropped.
A lush, green meadow stretched out before them, dotted with wildflowers in every color of the rainbow. Beyond it lay Mirror Lake, a shallow body of water so clear, so pristine, it seemed immoral even to look upon it. The nearby adjacent mountain peaks were perfectly reflected in the calm surface of the lake. It was an upside down photo, flawlessly framed and focused by nature itself.
Overcome with emotion, Rainey could barely speak. “Oh, Beck,” she finally managed to whisper, “I had no idea.” She squinted up at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you.”
He beamed. “My pleasure.”
They found an isolated, grassy slope near the water and lay down, side by side. The air was cool at that elevation, but the sun was hot—a phenomenon of mountainous areas, Rainey knew. She closed her eyes. Sometime later—time had ceased to exist—she opened them again. Beck had turned onto his side and sat up on one elbow. He was gazing dreamily into her eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to kiss a beautiful woman up here,” he murmured softly.
Rainey cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you haven’t?” Surely he was joshing. Surely he had brought other women here—and kissed them all soundly.
“No, I haven’t,” he insisted.
He was telling the truth. She knew it.
“Well, you’ve got plenty of women to choose from up here.” She chuckled nervously. “I think I saw—”
Before she could finish, his right hand slipped under her back, inside her T-shirt and along her bare skin to rest between her shoulder blades. His mouth came down softly on hers.
When he pulled back, moments later, she gulped. “Beck, nobody is watching. You don’t have to—”
He silenced her with another kiss, longer and deeper this time. While Rainey moaned, his hand eased around to make light contact with the side of her firm, bare breast. When his thumb grazed her swollen nipple, a small cry escaped from Rainey’s throat and that darned throbbing started in her lower belly again. Unable to resist, she raked her fingers through his hair.
So what if they had no audience? So what if he had a stable of women? He was one gorgeous man.
“Actually, someone is watching!” came a harsh female voice from behind them.
Beck’s head snapped back. Blushing like crazy, Rainey pushed him away, scrambled to a sitting position and hastily rearranged her rumpled T-shirt. They both climbed to their feet. A woman stood behind them, feet planted firmly apart, arms folded, eyes spitting fire. It was the redhead from Banff.
“Hello, Francine,” Beck muttered.
“Hello, Beck,” the woman snarled. “Long time no see.” Her eyes slid over Rainey as if she were pond scum. Addressing Beck but still glowering at Rainey, she said, “I hear you got married. A bit sudden, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all.” He gestured between the women. “Rainey, this is Francine Yates. Francine, my wife, Rainey.”
“How do you do?” Rainey asked politely. The woman didn’t respond.
“Does this mean you’re out of circulation now?” Francine asked Beck.
“That’s exactly what it means, Francine.”
She snorted. “Sure it does.” She appraised Rainey from head to toe. “Watch your heart, lady.”
Anger