Here Comes Trouble Read Free

to help her with the window treatments and the finishing touches of her interior design plan, and a small group who’d stayed for a wedding in the area around the holidays…well, the page wasn’t exactly full of scrawled names.
    “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, tanned, and surprisingly well maintained. In fact, the brief flash she’d had of his long fingers, she’d have sworn he had a manicure. That…so didn’t seem to go with the rest of the persona. “How many nights?” She glanced up to find him looking at her, but she didn’t think he was actually seeing her. Hard to say. He was still wearing his sunglasses.
    “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, dinner, depending on—”
    “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, mannerly. Then there was the wad of bills and