His good humor put her at ease. In the spirit of the game, she tested the faucets in the bathroom and caressed the soft towels. She declared everything perfectly acceptable.
“Good.” His gray eyes gazed intently into hers; she wanted to sigh. “Stefan will be here in a minute with your luggage. Put on your play clothes, then join me in the lobby. We’ll have lunch before I take you on the grand tour.”
She supposed her linen suit wasn’t proper resort wear. “All right.”
His smile faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. His suntan gave his complexion a golden cast, contrasting with his pale eyes.
The bells pealed inside her soul.
Ross gave a start and turned away. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Dawn. We’re going to have a blast this week.”
She nodded slowly and pressed a hand between her breasts. Her heart raced as he closed the door behind him.
A shaft of sunlight flashed against the large diamond in her engagement ring. Guilt filled her throat and she swallowed hard. Ross Duke had definitely been flirting.
As she was certain she’d flirted in response.
And her wedding was less than a week away!
She hurried to the telephone. She must tell Quentin the resort vacation was a mistake. If he felt strongly about not holding the wedding at a church in Colorado Springs, then they could go downtown to the justice of the peace.
As she lifted the phone, she realized how silly she would sound. Surely Ross wouldn’t betray his best friend by flirting with his fiancée.
Quentin had been her godsend, rescuing her from the lonely grief of losing both her parents within the space of a year. He loved her. He worshipped her. He wanted the very best for her.
She hung up the telephone. Her gaze traveled the room and settled on the breathtaking view out the window. She loved the mountains. Her most pleasurable indulgence was the sound of her boots on rocks and the crisp taste of mountain air in her lungs. This vacation was Quentin’s way of indulging her—his gift. She could not toss a gift of love back in his face.
She smiled at her own foolishness. All her life she’d been warned about men like Ross Duke. Too handsome, too glib, too charming, and far too interested in her money. “Use your head, never your heart,” her father had told her time after time. “Emotion causes nothing but trouble. Logic and reason are the criteria for a successful life.”
Quentin Bayliss was the logical choice for her husband: a successful businessman whom she suspected was even wealthier than she. He had good manners, impeccable breeding and courage. Father and Mother would have approved. Logic also told her Ross had a vested interest in her satisfaction with Elk River Lodge. Even if he didn’t own the resort, his family did, and all resort owners needed happy guests.
She fingered her engagement ring, watching sunlight create rainbows around the diamond.
Hearing bells was foolishness, illogical, ridiculous. Ross Duke meant nothing to her and he never would.
“ITHINK I’M GOING to be sick to my stomach,” Dawn said. She gazed haplessly at Connie. Her friend knelt, scrubbing at a tiny spot marring the scalloped hem of Dawn’s wedding dress.
Connie Haxman lifted her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
“I shouldn’t be getting married. It’s a mistake.” She stared at the clock radio next to the bed. In one hour she and Quentin would exchange their vows in the Sweet Pines Chapel. “Quentin doesn’t know me well enough. What do I have to offer? I don’t even know any jokes!”
Connie rose to her feet and tugged at her pale fawn jacket. “You’re the nicest girl I know.” She grinned saucily. “Kind of neurotic, but perfectly nice.”
Feelings ruffled, Dawn sniffed. “I am not neurotic.”
Connie glanced at the small tape recorder lying on the bed. “You’re the only person in the entire world who actually uses one of those things to make memos. And don’t forget, I’ve seen your Daytimer. You could singlehandedly organize an entire country.”
Dawn peered with worry at the tape recorder. Making verbal notes to oneself made perfect sense. She could reuse the cassette tapes countless times, helping the environment by cutting down on the use of paper. “That makes me neurotic?”
“In a nice way.” Connie laughed. “Chin up, my darling, you’re a gorgeous bride. This is nothing but jitters. Even I feel the jitters when I get married, and I’ve had plenty of experience.”
Dawn managed a small smile, but debated how much to tell Connie. They’d been friends since the day Dawn began volunteering for the Children’s Betterment Society, which Connie had founded. Mother had always dismissed the socialite by saying, “One can drape a hound in jewels and even take it to the ball, but it remains a hound.”
Despite Mother’s opinion, Dawn loved Connie. She laughed too loud, drank too much and wore vulgar clothing, but she had tremendous energy and a generous heart.
Dawn twisted her engagement ring. “I’m not—I mean—I don’t know. I’m not sure if I love him.”
Connie folded her arms, pressing her impressive bosom higher. “This is moving kind of fast. You met him at the Valentine’s Day ball, so that makes it what, four months?”
“It’s not that fast,” Dawn said hesitantly. Quentin swore love at first sight and had proposed three weeks after they met. “I am thirty, and I want children. I don’t have time to waste on a long engagement.”
“Are you asking my advice, opinion, what?”
Knowing only that she didn’t know what she wanted, Dawn considered. “Assurance?”
“All right. Quentin is good-looking and obscenely wealthy. He can charm the socks off a brass statue. He’s funny, bright, and I think your father would have approved.”
“Really?”
Connie chuckled. “One shark always approves of another.”
Not understanding the joke, Dawn peered closely at Connie’s face.
“Oh, please, my darling. Your father was a Great White. He didn’t get where he did by being sweet.” She held up a hand, displaying an impressive number of diamond, sapphire and emerald rings. “Do not get me started on your parents. We’ll both be sorry. We’re discussing Quentin.”
Dawn hung her head. Connie had disliked the Lovells as much they had disliked her. Occasionally she indulged in tirades, calling Edward Lovell a bully with ice in his blood and a stock-market ticker for a brain. Worse, she called Deborah Lovell a stuck-up, snobbish, bluenosed twit without an ounce of compassion. Worst of all, Dawn sometimes secretly agreed.
“Quentin has a lot of energy. He’ll force you to come out of your shell.” She held her hands wide in a gesture of welcome. “Maybe he’ll succeed where I’ve failed and draw you out into the open where you belong. You’ll make beautiful children, to whom I give permission in advance to call me Auntie.”
“Oh, Connie.”
“Oh, my darling, forget these silly jitters.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “Unless you’d care to postpone this ridiculous wedding in the sticks and let me throw a proper bash for you? I still can’t believe, you’re not inviting anybody. Not even one reporter!”
Dawn sheepishly shrugged. “I have too invited people. Important people.” Her short guest roster included those people who had been especially close to her parents. She and Quentin had argued about including any guests at all, and about having a reception. He claimed anything other than a small, private ceremony would turn into a media circus. She argued that