Now that's an interesting development. Libby was highly aware of his body pressed to hers. She tried to turn her head to see what had happened.
"I said 'don't move.'"
She felt Sam's hands working the braid. His fingers were brushing against the back of her neck, which positively tingled with embarrassment. Though brunette like her mom, she'd inherited some of her carrot-topped dad's coloring, namely his freckles and easy blush response. She'd also gotten her fair share of his short temper, a fact she'd already regretted more than once since Sam Knight burst into her life.
It seemed as though an eternity passed before he grunted in satisfaction. "My button got caught in your hair."
She turned to face him then. He'd actually managed a smile of sorts, an expression that hadn't cracked his face at all, but sent a breathtaking twinkle to those baby blues. Her heart did a back flip, and she acknowledged that the man was more than good-looking. He was some kind of hot. And his nearness was about to get the best of her. How odd. She'd been around many a handsome man, and this one wasn't even her type. Rattled, she bent to gather her scattered load.
Sam helped. "Doesn't look like anything got wet."
"No, it doesn't." She marveled that he could carry on such a normal conversation. She could still barely breathe, and every inhalation she did manage was laced with the scent of his musky cologne. Her next words came out an octave higher than usual. "I think it would be smart to get a plastic bag to put them in, though."
He frowned, no doubt noting her agitation. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." She managed a shaky laugh. "Ever since lightning struck a tree, I've been jumpy as heck when it storms."
"I can imagine."
Libby retreated to her cabin and returned moments later with a large trash bag that she stuffed full of the bedclothes.
Sam reached out to take the bundle. "I'll carry that. You get my bag. It's not heavy."
Libby didn't argue. As she moved for the steps, she heard the sudden rush of wind through the dense trees surrounding them and realized a wall of rain was fast approaching.
She caught Sam's arm. "It's not far, but I'll drive you there anyway."
When he nodded, Libby made her way down the two steps to the motel's older model van. But the back doors were locked. Too late, she realized that she should have located her keys before she and Sam left the protection of the porch. As the rain began to fall in earnest, she frantically patted the pockets of her jeans, heart sinking when she failed to locate them.
When she finally remembered where they were, she scurried around to open the side door and yank the elusive ring from the ignition. At that moment the sky opened up, quickly drenching both her and her already-saturated guest. She rounded the van to jam the keys into the lock and throw open the double doors. Sam tossed both bags inside and slammed them shut again.
"Can you swim?" Libby yelled over the roar of the rain in the feeble hope that Sam might see the humor of their situation. She wasn't really surprised when he got into the van without comment. Embarrassed, she did the same and jabbed the key into the ignition.
Libby could just imagine what her employer must be thinking of her performance thus far. It was bad enough that he believed she was in on Ramona's deception. Now he probably wondered if she had the brains to run his motel in the first place. Quickly she started the engine and drove down the narrow gravel lane that led to unit six. When the headlights illuminated the results of her recent handiwork, she smiled to herself.
Wildwood was beautiful, a dream come true. Libby had first hatched the idea of bringing of honeymoon resort to Arkansas while still a homesick student at the University of Nevada, getting her degree in hotel management.
She was proud of what she'd accomplished in her ten short months at Petit Jean. Nestled in a dense forest high atop the beautiful mountain, the rustic resort provided a haven of seclusion from the stresses modern day living could put on any couple. Accommodations ranged from bargain-priced units with kitchenettes to plush honeymoon suites, all housed in picturesque log cabins. On top of that, Wildwood boasted a chapel, a new swimming pool, a restaurant with an annex large enough to serve as a reception hall, and a sauna. There was also a small lake, complete with an island gazebo and both fishing and paddleboats. And for those not into water sports, Wildwood had a tennis court.
There was no way Sam could view the splendor and doubt her managerial abilities, she decided. But one glance in his direction told her he was paying no attention at all to the beauty around him. Obviously exhausted, he'd closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the headrest. He looked to be in no mood for the grand tour just yet, and she didn't want to do anything to anger him further.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to show him around. Meanwhile, it might be wise to do everything she possibly could to make Sam Knight's stay perfect from this moment on.
But how could it be perfect? His cabin wasn't near ready for occupation. The bed wasn't made, and the rest of the furniture was stacked and covered with plastic sheeting. There weren't even any drapes... She had a heck of a lot to do before she could properly welcome her guest.
Welcome her guest? Libby knew that was the least of her worries. First and foremost was the formidable task of salvaging her reputation as manager and convincing Sam that she was an innocent party to Ramona's deception. That decided, she turned the van between two trees, halting it as close as she could to the cabin.
When they got out, Sam waved her toward shelter. He quickly unloaded the van and stepped onto the porch with the linens and his bag. By then she had opened the door and flipped on the light. When he entered the stuffy cabin, he turned slowly, checking out every inch of the cluttered living room.
Most of the furniture had been pushed to the middle and covered with a protective tarp. They were paint cans everywhere, not to mention junk food wrappers left by workers who'd eaten there during the repair process the past week. The concrete floor, plainly visible since the carpet hadn't been replaced, was littered with sawdust, bits of wood, and stray nails.
Libby, seeing the area through Sam's eyes, didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. "Why don't you have a seat somewhere while I set things up?"
"Why bother for one night?" He pinched the muscles at the base of his neck with a thumb and forefinger. "I'm really beat, and there's the matter of these wet clothes. All I need is one of those beds. I'll use my cell to call Ramona again." He winced, no doubt remembering he'd lost it.
"I'll go look for your phone." She dumped her load on one of the shrouded chairs.
"It has a LifeProof case on it, so we can wait for better weather. Believe me, no one else will find it tonight."
"If you're sure..." Libby carefully raised the nearest window to let in some fresh air. Sam helped her maneuver one of the stored rollaway beds to the center of the room, where they opened it with a twist of the screws.
She hastily made the bed and piled the extra blankets at the foot of it, wishing she could offer better sleeping accommodations, but the thin mattress was the best she could do.
"Sure you want to sleep here?"
"Positive," he assured her.
She shrugged in resignation and showed him the closet, bathroom, and kitchenette. Just before she left she said, "If you think of anything else you need, I'm just a yell a way."
"Thanks."
For some reason, Libby suddenly felt reluctant to leave. She suspected it was because Sam looked so dead on his feet. Once again she wondered if he was really as well as he claimed to be. "Promise you're okay?"
"Yep." His tone dismissed her.
She took the hint. "Then I'd better get back to work. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Knight." She extended her right hand.
Though clearly taken aback by her unexpected formality, Sam nonetheless took her hand. "You may as well call me Sam."
"If you'll call me Libby." She stepped out the door. "Goodnight, Sam."
"Goodnight."
Libby jumped off the porch to splash her way to the van and pulled away with a crunch of muddy gravel.
Lost in thought, Sam shut his door. What a day. He opened his bag and dug out his well-worn sleep pants and a pair of boxer briefs, thankful that his housekeeper had packed extras, as usual. More than once an out-of-state court case had dragged on longer than anticipated, and the clean clothes had come in handy. And though it was pleasure instead of business that kept him in Arkansas over the weekend, Ava's foresight was much appreciated.
Pleasure? Sam frowned as he headed for the privacy of the bathroom, close at hand. Hardly pleasure, at least now that Ramona had pulled her latest fast one. And what a fast one she'd pulled. He couldn't imagine what had motivated her to such deceitfulness.
Or could he?
While stripping off his drenched clothes and draping them haphazardly over the curtain rod of the dusty shower, Sam came to the realization that his younger sister just might have a motive for trying to make his life miserable, after all. Up until a month ago, he'd certainly been doing his level best to do the same for her.
He'd had good reason at the time, of course. Ramona had gone and gotten herself engaged to a divorcee with children. Sam's experience in divorce court told him their marriage had about as much chance for survival as a turkey at Thanksgiving. He'd done his damnedest to talk her out of what would surely be the biggest mistake of her life, but to no avail. Ramona was as hardheaded as she was hopelessly romantic. He could only hope the wedded bliss they now claimed would last, even though he seriously doubted it.
Sam dried his damp body with one of the towels and stepped into dry underwear and his sleep pants. He looked into the mirror over the sink as he finger combed his wet hair, grimacing at the weary man who stared back at him. Seconds later he was sitting on the narrow bed.
Tomorrow he'd call Ramona and give her orders to sell Wildwood to one of the two motel chains that had made offers on his resort in the last couple of weeks. The offers had surprised him at the time, but now they made perfect sense. Thinking back to his sister's clever handling of said offers make him realize just how easily he'd been manipulated by her.
She'd presented each in a negative way and, distracted as usual by his work, Sam had given her only half his attention before telling her to decline them. Obviously he'd given Ramona far too much leeway in her capacity as his money manager. Now he'd have to pay for his lack of judgment. He could only hope his law partners didn't learn about this motel monkey business. They'd never let him forget it.
So what now? He glanced around the depressingly empty room. Though physically exhausted, he was much too mentally wired to fall asleep just yet. He wished for his phone, his tablet or a television, none of which were available, and realized his tumultuous thoughts were the only company he'd have until dawn.
And what thoughts. Trying not to dwell on how easily he'd been duped by little sis over the past few months, he searched for something else—anything else—to think about. Not surprisingly, a vision of Libby popped into his head. Libby with eyes so dark he couldn't even see the pupils. Libby in a waterlogged tee shirt and jeans that clung to every feminine curve...
Sam groaned loudly when he realized the direction his thoughts had taken. He plopped back on the bed, sternly reminding himself that same Libby had joined forces with his sister and was going to lose her job as a result of her bad decision. Not that he intended to fire her right away. He wouldn't, at least until he knew the whole truth and then with reluctance since she was clearly very bright.
But Libby's future was not his problem, and after he talked to Ramona tomorrow, Wildwood wouldn't be either.
* * * *
Shortly after the rain stopped, Gil Turner, Libby's older brother, showed up for his usual weeknight twelve-to-eight desk duty. After a brief explanation about the surprise guest in unit six, she walked back to her living quarters. Fetch, her two-year-old dog, greeted her with a yelp of delight and a very cold nose, which he nuzzled into her palm. She placed a kiss on his velvety black head and went to the refrigerator for her usual late night cola.
Soft drink in hand, she stepped out onto her darkened porch and the bench swing both she and Fetch adored. She steadied the swing so the dog could jump up on it and joined him there. He loved to swing; she loved to star gaze. That meant many a companionable, late-night on the deeply shadowed porch.
Libby absently petted Fetch, who took that as an invitation to crawl into her lap. Since he weighed a ton, she laughingly pushed him away. "Sorry, sport."
He yawned his disappointment and lay back down. Really relaxing for the first time that night, she set the swing in motion and glanced at the patch of sky she could see from there, observing with pleasure the single star that twinkled through a fleeting break in the dense clouds in the distance. She made a wish, and then laughed at her foolishness. Wishes only came true in fairytales, and Fetch might not appreciate being turned into a knight in shining armor.
Knight?
She glanced automatically toward Sam's cabin, noting that one particular Knight's lights were still on. Apparently he was a night owl, too, or maybe he was simply too angry to sleep. She was glad she wasn't his younger sister tonight. Not that Ramona didn't deserve whatever punishment he dished out. As far as Libby was concerned, she certainly did. Her duplicity was unforgivable and...baffling.
Why had Ramona perpetrated the honeymoon hoax? Because her brother was so dead set against marriage that she knew he would veto the renovation plans? Undoubtedly, Libby decided. She wondered why Sam was so against marriage and honeymoons in the first place. Was his occupation solely to blame? Or something else?
Lost in her thoughts, she sipped her soft drink. Just then Fetch tensed beside her. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw Sam was standing square in front of the open window, his back to her. Shirtless, he was a sight to behold. Libby halted the motion of the swing and leaned forward for a better view.
She couldn't help but admire his broad back, narrow waist, and powerful arms. Fetch, no doubt wondering why the rhythmic movement he loved had suddenly ceased, sharply barked in complaint.
Libby panicked, clamping her fingers over his muzzle to hush him. Although Sam had turned and was staring out the window, he couldn't possibly see her huddling there in the dark like some peeping Tom.
Or could he? She held her breath.
He stood motionless for several seconds and then disappeared. A heartbeat later, his front door opened.
Libby bounded off the swing and into the house.