Olivia stood riveted to the floor. Her love life gun belt? Puppy-dog enthusiasm? And what did she mean the future of Singing Rock was riding on Rob? Just because Mom and Dad were eager to retire and none of their daughters or sons-in-law had an interest in carrying the torch of the family business? That may have been true at one point. But not now. Not after she’d regained confidence, had time to reconsider.
But, of course, if it was up to Paulette, she’d never get that opportunity—unless she could wrest the job from Rob without her sibling’s knowledge and prove to the family once and for all she could do it.
Back in the kitchen, she opened a can of mixed fruit and sat down to eat while perusing her mother’s stack of Good Housekeeping. But an hour later she realized she’d glanced solely at the photos, none of the text. Her mind was too preoccupied with plotting how she could convince her parents she was here to stay this time—and troubling over Rob McGuire’s uncharacteristic behavior.
While he’d always fully focused on whatever goal was set before him, he used to be easygoing. Sure, he’d been a serious thinker back then, but now he was serious. The Rob of old never would have cut off a friendly overture with a remark like that.
A chirping sound echoed through the kitchen. She tracked it to a cell phone—tucked under a philodendron’s foliage—where it must have slid from Paulette’s purse. She snatched it up and punched what she hoped was the right button.
“Hello?”
There was a hesitation on the other end. “Paulette?”
She recognized the voice and caught her breath. “This is Olivia.”
Another pause. “This is Rob McGuire. Would you please put her on?”
“She left without her phone. Could I get a message to her?”
He hesitated again and she envisioned him raking a hand through his sun-streaked hair, a familiar gesture she remembered well. “After what happened at Timberline, I decided to check out the rest of the property. And there’s a problem.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning someone tagged Bristlecone.”
“They did what?”
“Spray-painted graffiti on interior walls,” he clarified in a tight voice. “And your name figures prominently in the artwork.”
“I should have asked her to have Paulette call me. That’s it.” Grumbling aloud, Rob dug around in the property’s Jeep Wrangler, trying to find his pen.
He wasn’t required to bring the oldest Diaz daughter up to speed on Singing Rock business, but she’d asked him to keep her in the loop while her parents were gone. Wanting to stay on the good side of a woman he suspected could influence the outcome of this new venture, he’d indulged her. He didn’t think she questioned his authority, but sought to protect her parents’ rare time off. She needn’t have worried. This sort of thing didn’t warrant, in his estimation, a call to Paul and Rosa.
But now Olivia was on her way, insisting she needed to take a look at the damage he’d unthinkingly brought to her attention. He hadn’t missed the earlier dismay that crossed her pretty, animated features when he told her he was the new manager. Almost as if she didn’t think him sufficiently competent to handle it. Which was a real turnaround from what he could remember of her now that he’d had time to think about it.
Back in college she always seemed to show up when he least expected it. An idealistic, high-spirited sprite, trying hard to get his attention. Hanging on his every word. Thinking he could do no wrong.
His stomach twisted at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Probably hers. He sucked in a weary breath. Do no wrong. She’d been way off base on that one. And yet, after all this time, he wasn’t keen on setting her straight.
Letting her down.
It had taken her all of five minutes to pull on a pair of jeans and head out to check on the situation herself. Mr. McGuire might not appreciate her interference or the return of the good old days, but she’d promised herself to look out for things in her parents’ absence. So like it or not, he’d better get used to it. Managing Singing Rock was her heritage, not his.
Spotting the cabin through the pines, one of twenty scattered across Singing Rock’s thickly treed acreage that backed up to forest service property, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she eased the nose of her car off the rutted road. She hadn’t thought about Rob more than a time or two—okay, or two thousand—in the past seven years. So what was with the anticipatory butterflies bouncing around in her stomach?
Up a slight rise hunkered the well-remembered cabin with its log and native stone facade, shingled roof and rustic wooden porch. Natural rock chimneys graced opposite ends of the structure and a half-barrel of fuchsia petunias squatted near the steps. An open-topped, black Jeep Wrangler sat off to one side. Just like the property’s other SUV, its door was emblazoned with “Singing Rock Cabin Resort—Canyon Springs, Arizona.”
As if on cue, Rob emerged from its interior, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare piercing through the canopy of pine branches. With a frown, he peeled out of his windbreaker and tossed it to the seat. Then slipping a pair of sunglasses on, he strode toward her as she exited her vehicle.
She couldn’t see his eyes, hidden as they were behind his sunglasses, but she felt them on her. What did he see when he looked at her? The skinny, giggling freshman she’d been—or the woman she hoped she’d become?
She took a deep breath to quiet her thumping heart. Get a grip, Olivia. You’re not a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old anymore. She flashed him a bright smile as he came to a halt before her, determined that Mr. Grumpy wasn’t going to ruin her day. “Now where’s this graffiti you called about?”
Rob’s brows rose over the top of his shades and for a moment she thought he was going to tell her there was no need to trouble herself, he’d handle it. But then he tilted his head and swept his arm toward the cabin in an almost deferential invitation.
When she hesitated, he set off on the trail to the log structure, anyway, leaving her to trot along behind. It was apparent he didn’t plan to allow their so-called reunion to be anything more than superficial. Which was total silliness. His romantic blunder happened over seven years ago. Get over it, Rob.
Without warning, a squirrel shot out of the timber and across their path, a youthful black Labrador retriever in hot pursuit.
“Elmo.” Rob’s sharp tone and a palm slapped against his denim-clad thigh caught the pup’s attention. The dog skittered to an uncertain halt, his head swiveling from his escaping playmate to Rob and back again. Then he ducked his head and approached, body quivering and tail wagging, to throw himself in humble adoration at Rob’s feet.
Olivia could relate.
She crouched to pat the puppy. It seemed to be all tongue at the moment, and she fended off a flurry of wet kisses. “What a doll. He’s yours?”
“My assistant manager’s. I’ll have to remind him about the property’s leash rules.”
He had an assistant manager? How’d he rate that?
“A cutie for sure. How old is he?”
Rob’s brow crinkled. “Early to mid-thirties probably. And I thought he was kind of an ugly dude myself.”
She laughed and fended off another onslaught of exuberant puppy passion, her heart lightening. So the man did still have a sense of humor buried under that hands-off demeanor. “Very funny.”
“Oh, you meant the pooch?” Rob didn’t so much as crack a smile. But she sensed it there. Lurking. She’d get one out of him yet. “He’s five or six months old.”
The squirming pup rolled onto its back for a belly rub, his ID tags jingling. She obliged, glancing