LATE-SPRING MORNINGS on Lake Haven were the very definition of heaven on earth.
Megan stood outside the three-story inn inhaling the most perfect combination of scents she could imagine. Freshly turned earth, lilac shrubs and silver-green lavender plants, still several weeks away from blooming but still sending out their luscious aroma from the greenery alone.
If she could bottle that scent, she would make a fortune.
Late spring or not, the early hours before the sun climbed the top of the mountains were still cool. She wore her favorite sweatshirt as she worked on the flower beds around the entrance to the inn. Even in July and August, visitors invariably needed sweaters and jackets in the mornings and evenings, especially at this altitude. Still, the possibility of warmer days was just around the corner.
She had about a million and one things to do this morning but couldn’t resist standing here a little longer so she could embrace this particular moment that would never come again.
Lately, Megan had tried to make a conscious effort to focus on living in the moment, savoring the joy of the now instead of worrying about that to-do list or about the latest crisis among her staff or guests or about the photography exhibit that consumed every waking moment.
To that end, she lifted her face to the sunshine, trying to focus on the warmth on her skin, the music of birds greeting the day in the treetops around the inn, the fragile perfection of a May morning on the shores of a stunning mountain lake.
“You look like you’re either trying to pass a kidney stone or solve the world’s problems. Which is it?”
Megan tried not to sigh as the familiar voice intruded into her moment.
“Good morning, Verla,” she greeted the longtime head housekeeper at the inn, who had been with them for years.
Verla McCracken was in her early seventies but refused to retire. During the year the inn shut its doors to rebuild after a disastrous fire, Verla had busied herself traveling the region and visiting with her grandchildren, but had begged for her job back the moment the inn was ready to reopen.
She was thin and wiry and could probably bench-press a camel.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Megan said conversationally, turning back to the weeding.
“Sure is. The kind of day that makes me want to jump into the lake in my skivvies.”
She did not need that image in her head. Before she could scrub it clean, Verla went on.
“I saw a car parked at Cedarwood Cottage. Our favorite author must have turned up in the night. Should I add the cottage to the cleaning schedule?” Verla asked eagerly.
Though Megan didn’t think she and the other woman had all that many things in common, they both, oddly, found Elliot’s books fascinating. Unlike Megan, Verla had been thrilled that Elliot had decided to make the Silver Beach cottage his temporary home for a few weeks.
Almost against her will, Megan looked past the line of pine and spruce toward Elliot’s place. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, and she couldn’t immediately ascertain whether that feeling in her chest was relief or disappointment.
“I don’t know. His rental contract only calls for twice-weekly housekeeping service, but I can ask if he would like that expanded to daily service.”
“Have you talked to him yet?”
Megan tried not to think about that strange, awkward interaction in the moonlight—or about the bizarre, heated dreams that had kept her tossing and turning all night.
She needed a social life.
“Briefly. He came in last night just before I went to bed.”
“He still as hot as ever?”
Ew. Verla was old enough to be Elliot’s grandmother.
“I can’t say I really noticed,” she lied. “He’s a guest here. That’s all that matters.”
Verla snorted, clearly not impressed by Megan’s somewhat pious response.
As if on cue, Elliot chose that particular moment to come jogging into view along the pathway around the lake. He wore shorts and an FBI T-shirt that clearly showed the man had serious muscles and was, indeed, as hot as ever. He ran with an odd, stiff sort of gait and it took her a moment to realize the cause was likely because his shoulder was still in a sling and he was bracing it somewhat as he moved.
What had he done to hurt himself? She found it surprising that neither of his normally chatty sisters had mentioned anything about an injury. They usually delighted in telling the group about whatever Elliot was doing—his latest book award or FBI commendation. None of the Baileys had said anything about an injury.
She had to wonder again why he had chosen to pay the rental fee to stay here rather than with his mother or one of his siblings.
“Hey, Elliot.” Verla waved at him eagerly. He paused, turning toward them. Then he trotted in their direction.
“That is one fine-looking man,” Verla murmured as he approached them.
On closer inspection, Megan could see pain lines bracketing his mouth, and his right hand below the sling was clenched into a fist. None of that took away from the impact of him, lean and hard and dangerous.
“Nice morning for a run,” she said, though she wouldn’t know. She hated running. She didn’t mind walking or hiking or riding her bike but would rather scrub all the inn’s toilets than throw on running shoes.
Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. Anything was better than scrubbing the hotel toilets.
“It’s beautiful,” Elliot agreed, though he said this with all the enthusiasm of a man selecting among brands of dental floss. “I’m having a little trouble with the desk lamp in the second bedroom. I tried swapping out light bulbs with the bedside lamp and that didn’t do the trick. The cord appeared a little frayed, which leads me to the assumption that the malfunction is somehow related to that.”
Why couldn’t he just say the lamp had a bad cord? “Right. I forgot about that. A previous guest brought it to my attention and I meant to switch it out before renting the cottage again but the matter completely slipped my mind. I’ll be sure to send another one over today.” She would take the one off her own desk if she had to, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
“Thank you,” he said, as formally as if they were discussing international trade treaties among countries. “At your earliest convenience would be fine. I’m not in a big rush, though I do see myself working there when possible. I just wanted you to know. Any frayed cord could pose a fire hazard.”
Thank you, Safety Patrol Leader.
She forced a smile, trying not to be snarky. “I appreciate the notice and will take care of it this morning.”
He nodded and turned toward the direction of Cedarwood Cottage but Verla waylaid him.
“Hey, Elliot. You might not remember me. Verla McCracken. You played baseball with my son Cort.”
He shifted and gazed down at her diminutive form, then offered Verla a smile much warmer than anything he had yet to bestow on Megan.
“Oh, yes. I remember. You always brought the best treats after games for Cort to share with the rest of us. My favorites were your sweet rolls with the maple frosting. I’ve had dreams about your sweet rolls.”
She laughed, looking pleased and completely charmed. “I’ll be sure to make you some