"But if you change the focus, you'll have just another run-of-the-mill motel." Libby threw her hands up. "Wildwood is the perfect place to begin a marriage and the perfect place to escape the problems that can rip one apart. Our guests come here to find peace, quiet and, if they try really hard, each other."
"That's garbage!" Sam snorted his impatience with her expectations.
"Ramona sure had you pegged right."
"What you mean? What did she say?"
"She called you a Scrooge. And after hearing that bah-humbug theory of yours, I think she's right."
"Well, Scrooge or not, my mind's made up."
Libby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Isn't there anything I can say to convince you how wonderful romance can be?"
Your place or mine might do the trick. Sam mentally groaned. Two little kisses. That's all it had taken to turn a levelheaded divorce attorney into a weak-kneed wimp. Maybe Ramona was smarter than he thought. Maybe he'd flown solo too long. But he refused to let loneliness get the better of his good sense. "There's nothing you can do. Nothing at all."
Libby tilted her head, clearly deep in thought. "I expected better from a man like you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"You're a lawyer! Yet you've reached your verdict without even looking at the evidence."
He realized she might be right.
"I deserve an opportunity to present my case," she said, as though sensing his dilemma. "Let me have the rest of your weekend to show you around Wildwood. You're going to be there anyway."
That he was, and fairness dictated that she be given the chance to plead her case. "Can I expect to be visited by the ghosts of marriage past, present, and future if I do?"
Libby just shook her head.
He gave in with a sigh. "Oh, all right, I'll hold off on a final decision until Monday. But don't get your hopes up. I'm a hard man, and I can be damned ruthless when I think I'm right. I'm not going to be easy to convince."
He braked and swerved sharply to the shoulder again. Before Libby could ask why, he put the van in park, stepped out, and strode to the middle of the road. He scooped up a large map turtle and walked to the edge of the pavement to set it in the grass.
* * * *
"Look at this. Just look at this." Sam said, as he drove into the Wildwood parking lot a few minutes afterward. "There are two, four, six...ten cars here with Just Married smeared all over them. That's disgusting. Don't those poor idiots know the divorce rate? Why within a year, five of those ten couples will be in some lawyer's office, ready—no, eager—to call it quits."
Libby's spirits tanked, but she didn't speak. There was no sense in bandying words with a man who made his living arguing. Especially one this cynical. She'd do better to focus on plotting her campaign. She had won a major victory by getting him to give her his weekend. She intended to make use of every minute. "I've got to take some menus to the restaurant. Then I'm going to clean up your cabin. Why don't you walk to the lake until I get finished?"
"You don't have a maid who could do that for you?"
"Yes, I do. My Aunt Cecelia. Unfortunately she got off at four, and since I forgot to ask my cousin to tell her about unit six needing a clean-up, it probably wasn't touched." Libby climbed out of the van and spoke to Fetch, who'd bounded up.
"Sounds like Wildwood is a family affair." When he spotted Fetch, he grinned and dropped to his knee to scratch him behind the ears.
"It is." Libby opened the doors and reached in for the box of menus. "I have eight relatives working here with me."
"No wonder you're so anxious to maintain the norm." Sam ducked the dog's pink tongue and stood to take the box from Libby.
"That and the fact that I love it here. I don't know what I'll do if you sell out and I have to leave." She started across the parking lot to the restaurant.
"Why would you have to leave?" Sam called after her. "You're obviously capable. I'll give you a good recommendation."
"Many motel chains have their own training programs these days," Libby replied over her shoulder. "And that includes both of the companies that have made offers on Wildwood."
"Oh."
"Just put them there." Once inside, Libby pointed to a table near the swinging kitchen doors. Sam did as asked and in seconds they were back outside. "Thanks. Why don't you run along and play? I have work to do."
"I'm going to help."
"No, you aren't. That's my job. You're the guest."
"I'm the owner." His tone was cool. "For now, anyway. And what I say goes."
With a sharp salute, she acknowledged his authority. She and Sam headed to unit six via a storage closet full of cleaning supplies. Arms laden, they headed to Sam's cabin.
With Sam's help, she cleared the room and rearranged it, waiting until the last minute to set up the bed that workmen had disassembled.
It felt very odd to be making up a bed with a guy. Probably because she hadn't actually done it before. She had never moved in with any of her boyfriends and none had moved in with her. All sex had been spontaneous and ultimately pointless, even if it had felt right at the moment, and she had no regrets. Intimacy for the sake of pleasure wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It simply didn't work for her anymore.
Fetch supervised as they worked, more than once poking his cold, curious nose where it didn't belong. In spite of him, the end result was a fairly neat living room-bedroom combination. Sam voiced his approval, admittedly spoiling that treasured complement with a grumbled complaint about the state of the bathroom.
Libby made short work of that little chore. In minutes the tile walls and floor, not to mention hot tub and shower, had been rid of layers of sawdust. On a roll, she next tackled the kitchen, and that in spite of Sam's assurances that he wouldn't be caught dead in there.
"You don't cook?" She sprayed the counters with an all-purpose cleanser and wiped them down.
"I took my turn in the kitchen before my divorce. After it, I hired a live-in housekeeper."
"I know it's none of my business, but did you leave your wife or vice versa?"
"You're right. It's none of your business."
Abandoning her quest to find out if his divorce had contributed to his negative attitude, she finished up without small talk. Finally, she turned in a circle to inspect the room, dusted her hands together, and glanced at her watch. "It's only five. There's still plenty of time to give you the grand tour before dark."
"I really don't—"
"None of that. You gave me your weekend."
"Okay, okay." His expression told her he regretted it.
"We'll start with the swimming pool. It's heated now, you know." She led the way to a tall privacy fence. The sun, just beginning to sink behind gold-rimmed cumulus clouds, glowed red-orange in the sky. Sam breathed deeply of the air, so crisp and clear, smiling to himself with pleasure. He loved Petit Jean Mountain. Always had. He especially loved the state park, just three miles down the highway.
As a troubled teenager dealing with his parents' bitter divorce and as an adult dealing with his own, Sam had escaped to it often, camping for days, hiking the trails, exploring the caves. He'd found peace there, peace he felt right now. It was like coming home.
His gaze swept the unobtrusive log cabins. He had to give Libby credit. The resort did not distract from the natural charm of the wooded area. She'd done a fine job renovating. Too bad she'd gummed up the works with her love-can-last-forever malarkey.
She opened the gate, ordered Fetch to stay, and ushered him inside with a sweep of her arm. He stepped through and paused for a moment, looking around their new surroundings. The pool area was deserted except for man and a woman, seated at one of several patio tables near the sparkling blue water. They waved to Libby, who led him over to them. Much to his embarrassment, she introduced him as the owner of the resort.
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. Knight." The woman who spoke was slim and looked to be in her mid-forties. "I want to congratulate you on Wildwood. It's lovely. Just lovely. Arkansas has needed a resort like this for years."
"Yeah, well thanks." Sam was surprised by her praise and didn't miss Libby's smug smile.
"And you picked the perfect location. So romantic, especially in light of Petit Jean's story. I'm sure you know it."
"I know it." Sam wasn't the least bit interested in the legend of the French woman for whom the mountain was named. He'd never really seen anything romantic about a female dressing as a man to follow her fiancé on a French exploration of the Louisiana territory. Foolish would be a better word, he thought, or maybe tragic, since she'd died on the mountain.
"We watched the sunrise from the grave site," the man said. "It was breathtaking. We plan to come back here for our anniversary every year. In fact, I've already made reservations for next fall."
"Is that so?" The man's blatant display of sentimentality embarrassed Sam. "I'm, um, glad to hear that. Thank you very much." Taking Libby's arm, he nodded a goodbye and practically dragged her inside the nearby building.
"Wasn't that sweet?" Libby said, once they were out of earshot.
"Downright sticky."
Huffing her impatience, she led him down a short hallway to a room labeled Sauna. Just as she reached for the doorknob, it turned. A young couple stepped out and greeted her. Libby again introduced Sam as the owner of Wildwood. And again, the enthusiastic compliments of the guests surprised him. Libby was positively glowing by the time they stuck their heads into the steamy room to inspect it, and Sam couldn't really blame her. Clearly Wildwood was a hit. Clearly she thought she'd won her case.
But she hadn't and wouldn't.
"Before you get your hopes up, I want to warn you that I'm not impressed by the guests' comments." Sam pulled off his glasses to defog them.
Her smile slipped a notch. "You're not?"
"No. They're all little crazy, as far as I'm concerned. Haven't they just gotten married?"
"Oh, Sam." She slowly shook her head. "You are a hard man." Reaching out one hand to stop him from replacing his glasses, she used her other to dig into her pants pocket for the napkin he'd handed her earlier. Libby blotted the beads of perspiration that had popped out on his forehead.
Hit in the gut by her feather touch, Sam caught both her hands in his, imprisoning them against his suddenly pounding heart. That kept her full lips temptingly close and threatened his composure.
He suddenly wondered what she'd do if he stole another kiss. "I did try to warn you."
Her dark-eyed gaze met his. "So you did."