She nodded approvingly, backpack sliding off her shoulder once more. “I wasn’t sure what to expect but this is cute.”
“You’ll like the rooms. They’ve obviously spent a lot of money trying to make it appealing and I think they’ve succeeded.”
She gave up trying to keep the backpack on her shoulder and just let it slide to her feet. “Are you here for the travel agent trip?”
“I am, but I’m not a travel agent. I’m a writer.”
So this was the sportswriter. The desk clerk had called him gorgeous, and he was. “Tricia Thorpe,” she said shyly, extending her hand.
“Douglas Quincy,” he replied, his big hand engulfing hers, fingers closing around hers.
His palm was so warm, and the touch of his skin sent a little jolt of electricity shooting up her arm. Charity quickly retracted her hand, and rubbed it on the back of her coat, trying to erase the tingling sensation. She’d have to be careful around Douglas. He was exactly what she didn’t need, not at this point in her chaotic, confusing life. “Where’s home for you?” she asked.
“Seattle, Washington.”
“Oh, then you’re the one to ask about coffee. I’ve heard there is a great coffee place in this building. Have you seen it?”
“You’ll find the little café down that hall,” he said, pointing to the left. “Elevators and rooms are to the right, and the heated pool is out the door down that little hall.”
She flashed what she hoped was a confident smile. “Great. Well, I’d better get settled.”
“You’ll be at the welcome reception?”
Her pulse sped up, double time. “See you there.”
*
Quinn watched Tricia disappear down the hallway with her massive suitcase and knapsack, her long blonde ponytail swinging.
She was pretty, really pretty, with a wide, uncertain smile and blue eyes that held more than a hint of wariness in them. Her suitcase looked as if he it hadn’t been used in a long time, and her knapsack belonged to a day hiker rather than a world traveler. Quinn suspected she didn’t get out and travel as much as her customers. If that was true, he was glad she was here. He didn’t know why, but she struck him as someone in need of a break, and maybe some fun.
Quinn hadn’t come for fun. When Peter Pace had reached out to Quinn about potentially investing in Little Teton, Quinn’s immediate thought had been no. He didn’t ski due to a clause in his contract, but it hadn’t been a huge loss as he’d liked to ski as a boy, but it had never been a passion. Baseball had always been his thing, and he’d been lucky to turn it into a lucrative career.
But after thinking about Peter’s request a bit more, Quinn at least owed Peter the opportunity to show him what he’d done in Wyoming, which was why Quinn was here now, under the name Douglas Quincy. He wanted to see if there was a way he could help, but he wouldn’t know the answer to that until he’d been here for the week.
*
That evening, Charity spotted Douglas the moment she entered the meeting room off the main lodge’s lobby. He was the tallest person in the room, and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was also circled by a large group of women who seemed to find him utterly charming.
Charity smiled to herself and went to the beverage table to grab a bottle of water but then spotted the red and white wine and decided, a glass of red would be really lovely about now. She wasn’t exactly nervous being here, but she was out of her element.
As she sipped her wine, she glanced around the room. From the way it’d been set up, she gathered that there would be a presentation. Two rows of chairs faced a podium and screen at one end of the room, while tables of food and drink were at this end.
She snagged some of the skewered meat sticks and cheese cubes before heading toward the chairs. If Tricia was here, she’d mingle with the other agents, but Charity didn’t have Tricia’s confidence. But then, Tricia did these familiarizations all the time as hotels and airlines used the free trips as a way to show off new airplane routes or properties, and Marietta Travel might be small, but Paradise Valley was filled with wealthy people who could afford to go where they wanted, whenever they wanted.
A shadow stretched over her. She glanced up to discover the sportswriter at her side, smiling. His smile was a thing of perfection—straight white teeth, great jaw, lovely mouth.
“Are you saving this row of seats?” he asked, gesturing to her row. “Or can you spare one for me?”
She tore her gaze from his mouth up to his eyes. Those were beautiful, too. He had not been shortchanged in the looks department. “I think I can spare a chair.”
He sat down next to her and extended long, muscular legs. His legs were so long, his all-weather boots were hidden beneath the seat in front of him. “The ladies I just met are all from the West Coast, three from California, one from Oregon and another from Vancouver. They’re very excited to be here.”
“It’s certainly a cute place,” she answered.
“They hit the Ice Shack for dinner and recommended the fondue there. Actually, they raved about the cheese and a chocolate fondue.”
She was amused by this conversation. Did big, muscular men like fondue? “I don’t think I’ve ever had fondue.”
“Never?”
She shook her head and sipped her wine. “Are you a fondue fan?” she asked innocently.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a fan, but it’s a fun thing to do on a ski trip. Do you ski?”
“I can get down the mountain but it’s not particularly pretty. More survival skiing than anything.”
She was rewarded with a laugh, and the deep, husky appreciative sound burrowed inside of Charity, warming her. He really was incredibly attractive, and it wasn’t just his looks—which were exceptional—but it was his smile and laugh and the way he just seemed so much larger than life. More real, more alive somehow.
“Since you’re not a travel agent, why are you here?” she asked, crossing her legs and opening her notebook. “Are you doing an article on ski resorts, or are you writing specifically about this one? What’s the scoop?”
“I know the owner here. The resort needs publicity, and I thought I’d see if there was some way I could help them out.”
“That’s nice of you.”
His broad shoulders shrugged. “I try to be nice.”
She had a weakness for a man with a sense of humor, and he definitely had one. “I confess I don’t really know a lot about Wyoming resorts.” She lowered her voice so no one else would hear. “In fact, this is my first time here. I didn’t even know that Little Teton existed.”
“Jackson Hole gets most of the attention. Then for those who want to ski this side of the mountain, they usually hit Grand Targhee. Even though Little Teton Resort and the Grand Targhee were built just five years apart back in the sixties, the Grand Targhee was just managed better, and found their customers, and kept them. Little Teton passed from one owner to another, and each owner did less and less to take care of the place. Peter Pace, the new owner, has poured money into this resort but they don’t have a lot of bookings and they can’t afford to go through the winter without revenue.”
“Which is why we’re all here.”