“So if there’s no special occasion, what’s with the snazzy dress and new hairstyle?” Frannie asked.
Summer shrugged. “I just think it’s good for a husband to see his wife looking different every now and then. I want to keep the magic in my marriage.”
Jasmine and Frannie looked at each other, then simultaneously burst into laughter.
Summer put her hands on her hips and eyed them indignantly. “And what, pray tell, is so funny about that?”
“Summer, your entire life is magic,” Jasmine said.
“Yeah,” Frannie seconded. “You’re beautiful, you have a fantastic career, a beautiful daughter, and you’re married to a successful surgeon who worships the ground you walk on.”
Summer’s hands fell to her sides. “Well, you know the old saying—familiarity breeds contempt. I don’t want Gavin to get bored with me.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “As if that could ever happen.”
“Yeah, Summer. Gavin’s not fickle like Jasmine here.” Frannie grinned at her pixie-faced cousin. Jasmine was hotly pursued by all the local bachelors, but she had yet to get seriously interested in any of them. “Who’s the lucky guy you’re going out with tonight?” Jasmine looked down at her neatly buffed nails. “Bill Richards. You know—one of the architectural engineers of the new resort and casino. He stayed here a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, I remember him! Broad shoulders, dark hair…” Summer frowned. “But I thought he left town when the construction halted.”
The construction of a casino on the Laughing Horse Reservation and a resort on adjacent private land was the biggest thing to ever hit Whitehorn. The development was supposed to boost the local economy, become a major revenue source for the Northern Cheyenne tribe, and create several hundred jobs for the citizens of Whitehorn. The ground had barely been broken for the project, however, when a skeleton with a bullet in its rib had been unearthed at the construction site.
And it wasn’t just any old skeleton, either. Dental records had revealed that the remains belonged to Summer’s father, Raven Hunter. Fortunately—well, it wasn’t exactly fortunate, Frannie mentally amended, but in view of the discovery of his body, it certainly made the situation less emotionally painful—Summer had never known her father.
The police were conducting a murder investigation, and to the distress of the citizens of Whitehorn, the construction project had been put on hold until the investigation was completed. Rumor had it that the police probe could take months. If it lasted until the onset of winter weather, the grand opening could be delayed for a full year.
“I thought the engineers weren’t going to return until construction resumed,” Frannie remarked.
Jasmine nodded. “Evidently it has. When Bill called to ask me out, he said they’ve decided to build the resort’s sports complex first. It’s being built further to the east, on Garrett Kincaid’s property.”
“So the project is back on track,” Summer said. “Well, that’s good news for Whitehorn’s economy.”
“Not to mention Whitehorn’s single women.” Jasmine gave a mischievous smile. “The town’s probably filling up right now with hunky engineers and contractors and heavy-equipment operators.”
“That’s right.” Summer’s gaze fastened on Frannie, one eyebrow arching in mock reproach. “But in order for a gal to meet any of them, she’d have to get out there and mingle.”
Frannie winced, knowing she was in for another round of the old familiar lecture.
Jasmine quickly picked up on Summer’s theme. “Are you going out tonight, Frannie, or are you going to hole up here like you usually do?”
Frannie swiveled her chair back to face the computer. “The books are a mess. You know how hopeless Aunt Celeste is with finances, and she’s been doing all the purchasing since Mom’s been gone.”
“But it’s Saturday night,” Summer scolded. “Don’t you know all work and no play makes you a dull girl?”
Frannie made a face. “I’m already dull. It’s too late to worry about it.”
Summer wagged a finger at her. “It’s never too late to get a life, Frannie. You need to go out and meet some men.”
“It’s not as if they’re eagerly lining up for an introduction.”
“That’s because you’re always hiding away here,” Jasmine insisted.
“That’s right.” Summer nodded. “You’ll never meet anyone if you don’t get out and circulate.”
“You two do enough circulating for all of us.” Desperate for a change of subject, Frannie glanced at her watch. “Speaking of circulating, when are your guys arriving?”
“Gavin should be here any minute.”
Jasmine glanced at the grandfather clock in the entryway alcove, then clasped a hand to the lapels of her white terrycloth robe. “Oh, dear. Bill will be here in ten minutes and I’m not even dressed! Summer, come help me figure out what to wear.”
“Okay—if you’ll let me borrow your new necklace.”
“Deal.”
Frannie heaved a sigh of relief as her cousins scurried upstairs to Jasmine’s room in the back wing of the house. She knew they meant well, but she hated it when they tried to coax her into social situations. The few times she’d allowed them to drag her to the local night spots, she’d sat on the sidelines as man after man ignored her.
Her cousins refused to accept it, but Frannie knew it was a fact: she didn’t have what it took to interest a handsome, successful, desirable man—not for any length of time, anyway. The best she could hope for was a kindhearted geek, and she had yet to meet one who held the least bit of appeal.
She was better off sticking with the one thing she knew she was good at: numbers. Numbers could always be counted on. There was no guesswork, no wondering if the results would be worth the effort, no question about how things would turn out. Numbers didn’t care if they were gussied up in colors and fancy fonts or set down in plain black and white. Unlike men, numbers were solid and reliable and trustworthy.
She plucked a yellow slip of paper off the top of the stack of receipts in front of her, determined to get her mind back on book keeping. She’d been managing the books for the Big Sky Bed & Breakfast since she was fifteen, but she still found it a challenge. Aunt Celeste’s unorthodox way of operating kept it that way.
She stared at the receipt in her hand and frowned. Whitehorn Cleaners. Was this a bill for laundering business linens or Aunt Celeste’s personal clothing? Lately Aunt Celeste had been even more careless than usual about labeling the receipts. With a sigh, Frannie placed the receipt in the growing stack of items she needed to ask her aunt about and reached for another.
She was inputting information from an itemized grocery list when the bell over the heavy oak front door jangled. Since Summer had said her husband was due any minute, Frannie assumed he’d arrived. “Come on in, Gavin,” she called. She heard the door open, but didn’t bother to turn around. “Summer’s getting ready. She’ll be out here in a moment.”
“Well, now,” said an unfamiliar voice. “I thought summer was already here, seeing as it’s the end of June.”
It was a low, deep throb of a voice, smoky and unrelentingly masculine. Something about it made the hair on the back of Frannie’s neck stand up, as if she’d just entered an electric force field.
She jerked around to find two men standing just inside the doorway. The one on the right was middle-aged and stout, clad in denim overalls, a red plaid shirt and brown work boots. His gray hair was sparse and closely shorn, and he had a face as round and friendly as a pumpkin pie.