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“Interesting book,” he said, surprising her with voluntary conversation. If you could count two words as conversation. He lifted the worn and faded leather cover to look at the front.
“I found it at an antiques market. It was the guest register for a hotel that was here back in the late eighteen hundreds when the town first started up. And, don’t worry, I use more technologically advanced record keeping, but I kind of liked the idea of the more personal touch, too.” She’d actually envisioned folks leaving little notes about their stay, perhaps coming back again and again over the years and looking back over previous entries. At the moment Kirby was just thankful that there was a stack of previously signed pages in the book. No one had to know that the signatures on those pages had been signed with a fountain pen. Well over a hundred years ago.
So, of course, he flipped back a few pages.
She kept the smile on her face and busied herself making a copy of the driver’s license he’d slid across the countertop. Great, not only was he the only current guest, but now he’d realize she wasn’t typically booked up. Ever. Made for a great setup for any number of horror movie scenarios.
Kirby turned back, smile still set in place, and handed his license back to him, belatedly realizing she’d been so distracted she hadn’t even looked at it. She’d check out the photocopy just as soon as she was alone.
She began explaining the rates, but he stopped her with, “I just need a single. Top floor if you have it. Doesn’t have to be fancy.”
She nodded and snagged a key from the hook under the counter. “One key will be okay?”
He nodded and palmed the key off the polished wood countertop. His hands were broad, ta
“Not sure. Is that a problem?”
So many things about this guy weren’t adding up. She could lie and tell him she was booked solid starting the coming weekend, but given the fact that he’d seen just how busy she’d been over the past month…or three, she didn’t think she could pull that off with the sincerity required. “No, that’s fine. How will you be paying? I take all major credit cards-”
“Cash,” he said.
She tried-and was certain she failed spectacularly-not to gape when he pulled out a wad of bills being held together with a wide paper band. The kind of band that looked like a bank band. What the hell did that mean?
He peeled off several bills and laid them on the counter. “That should take care of the next few days.” He wasn’t trying to flaunt it, nor was he coming off with any braggadocio or arrogance. In fact, he tucked the wad away as swiftly as he’d pulled it out.
“I-um, yeah, I mean yes,” she said, taking the bills-the one-hundred-dollar bills-off the counter. He hadn’t even asked her rates. “That will be fine. Wine, cheese, crackers will be available in the front parlor at five and I can direct you to several local restaurants for lunch, di
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, sliding the strap of his gear back over his shoulder. “And don’t go to any trouble for me with the wine. I doubt I’ll be back down tonight.”
“Okay,” she said. Despite the mane of curly, wind-tossed hair, the beard stubble, and beat-up leather jacket, he seemed a rather decent sort. Quiet, ma
He glanced at the key. “Number seven?” Then his lips curled briefly and he muttered something like “Lucky seven,” under his breath.
“Yes, top floor, back corner, nice view down the valley and the front range from your window.”
He curled the key into his palm and shifted his gear bag up farther on his shoulder. “I’m sure it will be fine. Thanks.” He gave her a nod, then started up the stairs.
She watched as he turned at the first landing and kept climbing, his heavy tread on the steps at odds with his otherwise quiet demeanor. She briefly thought that perhaps she should follow him up for security reasons, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have ample time to explore the place, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. There were cameras installed discreetly in the top corner molding at the ends of each hallway, but they weren’t hooked up to anything yet. The guests didn’t have to know that, however.
As soon as she heard the creaking floorboards up overhead, she slid the paper from the copier and turned it over. “Brett He
She pe
That was actually, in part, her attraction to wanting to be an i
Like the group who’d stayed through the holidays. Three couples, each in their late twenties, all of whom had begun dating each other while in college together, had reserved rooms to attend the wedding of the fourth couple in their college quartet. Two of the couples were simply enjoying the reunion and time spent catching up, but the third woman had confided in Kirby that she was hoping that watching two of their oldest and dearest friends tie the knot would prompt her significant other to finally pop the question. Kirby had kept her opinion on the likelihood of that happening to herself, but she’d enjoyed the confided secret nonetheless.
Not that she was nosy-okay, she totally was, but she didn’t pry. Not exactly. Mostly because she didn’t have to. She’d grown up inside a ski resort, and had literally done every job conceivable along the way, from cleaning rooms and working registration, to busing tables and even ru