Makin' Whoopee Read online

  "I thought we were down here on business."

  "Sure. But we can look the place over at our leisure. No late nights or early mornings."

  She ignored that, wondering if his statement was a shot in the dark, or if he really knew that she started work early and stayed late. She shouldn't be surprised at anything he said; Charlie was sharp.

  "I like my work," she said, her voice only slightly defensive. "Not many people can say that."

  "I agree completely. But you go at it tooth and nail, as if it's a twenty-four-hour fight for survival."

  It was, she said silently. But she wasn't about to admit it to Charlie. He had a spark of genius when it came to business. He had burst upon success. She had gotten there by dogged plodding.

  "It probably didn't occur to you that I'm having a good time," she said, resting her elbows on her knees. "When Charlie Sanderson has a good time—which is always—everyone knows about it. I simply have fun quietly—while I work."

  "Ah, Sara," he said, his eyes regretful as he took her hand and stared down at it. "You've never in your whole life relaxed enough to really have fun. You're afraid to loosen the tight control you have on your emotions long enough to have a good time."

  She yawned broadly. "You're not allowed to analyze me this weekend, Charlie. It's against the union rules—no psychiatric analysis in the presence of two or more inches of dirt. Besides, it wouldn't work with me lying down on Spanish furniture. The two things cancel each other out."

  Chuckling softly, he leaned back. "Still running," he said. Before she could comment, he added, "With a little effort, this place could really be something."

  She glanced around. "It has possibilities. I'm trying to picture it full of people, but right now all I can see is dust and cobwebs."

  "I can see the people. Back behind the bar is our fatherly bartender, dispensing drinks and advice to the crowd. And over there is a trio playing soft jazz. Three couples are on the dance floor. They're still wearing ski suits, and one fellow has a broken foot."

  "Which he got tripping over this ugly furniture."

  "Which he got swooshing down the mountain," Charlie corrected her. "And in front of a blazing fire, sitting on our comfortable but elegant furniture, drinking our excellent booze, several people are talking and laughing."

  " 'Hey cute cheeks, what's your sign?' " she suggested.

  He tugged her hair in reprimand. "They're talking about deep, meaningful subjects."

  She looked down her nose at an invisible guest. " 'Whom do you support on the question of nuclear winter? And if it is a genuine possibility, does that mean we could ski year round?' "

  Charlie's eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "How would you like a fat lip? Those kind of people are not welcome at my lodge."

  "No ski bunnies? No bronzed gods?"

  "No," he said firmly. "Let them go to Vail."

  "You mean we're not going to install saunas and hot tubs?" She shook her head. "How disappointing."

  "You're trying to turn my lodge into a singles' club. I tell you, only the best people will come here."

  "Okay, so what we'll do is have everyone fill out an application. If they measure up, we'll let them come here."

  Standing, he reached down to pull her to her feet. "I think it's bedtime.You're beginning to make sense to me."

  They walked companionably up one of the flights of stairs. "These are meeting rooms," he said, indicating the five doors that opened off the balcony.

  They took the hall to the left wing, and she let him guide her to the bedroom he had chosen for her. Inside the medium-sized room, she glanced around.

  Just as she had feared, he hadn't exaggerated. The Spanish influence was even stronger here, and it was simply awful. She suspected some of the carved furniture was actually plastic, and she had never liked wrought-iron wall sconces.

  Charlie followed her gaze around the room. "I think the decorator now deals exclusively in bus stations," he said, picking up a garish pottery vase to blow the dust off it.

  She laughed. "The bed looks relatively clean. I just hope there are no cheap Spanish bugs to match the cheap Spanish decor." He had piled covers and pillows on the end of the bed, and she saw her bag on a chair. "I'm about to find out. As tired as I am, I probably wouldn't feel anything smaller than a wolf biting me."

  "If I see Lon Chaney I'll let him know," he said, stretching extravagantly. "Catch you in the morning, Sara too Lovely for words."

  As soon as he had pulled the door closed behind him, she dug in her bag for a pair of red flannel pajamas and lay them across the chair. Weariness made her movements slow and awkward as she smoothed sheets and blankets on the bed.

  She had already changed into the pajamas and was running a brush through her hair when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

  When she opened the door Charlie examined the utilitarian flannel pajamas, then made an uncouth noise as he bit the back of his hand. "Sara, Sara," he said, shaking his head. "You could drive a man wild in that outfit."

  "Stop acting like a fool," she said shortly.

  He was wearing the still-gray bottom half of his sweat suit. A gaping hole exposed most of his left knee. The top half of him was completely bare. The rough sprinkling of hair on his well-formed chest was almost copper-colored, and it trailed down in a tantalizing wedge to disappear beneath the drawstring waist of his pants, which rested indecently low on his trim hips.

  She hastily raised her gaze to his face. "What do you want, Charlie?"

  His own gaze drifted over her body slowly, all the way down to her feet and back again. "Until now, I never thought of flannel as sexy." He stared directly at her chest. "You know, your breasts are a lot bigger than I imagined. I'll have to readjust my fantasies."

  Hastily she folded her arms across her chest. "For heaven's sake," she said in exasperation. "You're not supposed to notice something like that . . . and if you do, you should politely refrain from mentioning it."

  "No bazongas, huh?" he said, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

  She sighed heavily. Charlie was always laughing at her. Usually it didn't bother her, but tonight it did. "What do you want, Charlie?"

  "I just wanted to make sure you're warm enough and say good night."

  "I'm fine. Good night." She began to close the door, then rised one brow in inquiry when he didn't move away.

  His smile faded as he studied her face closely. "You're uptight," he said softly. "What's wrong, kid? Is the fight with Alston still bothering you?"

  Gazing over his left shoulder at the framed landscape hanging on the opposite wall of the hall, she avoided the gentle curiosity in his eyes. "There's nothing wrong," she said, moistening her lips nervously. "I'm just tired."

  When the silence drew out, she shifted her gaze back to him. He was staring at the deep V of her pajama top. Her crossed arms were pressing the tops of her breasts up provocatively. The look in his eyes burned right through her.

  Her breath caught in the back of her throat. "For Pete's sake, Charlie," she said hoarsely, "go to bed."

  He stared at her face for a moment longer, then turned away. "Good night, Sara Love," he said gently.

  Sara shut the door and leaned against it weakly. Dropping her arms, she closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see her hands shaking. Tonight the dreams would come. She knew it, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Why hadn't she considered what it would be like to spend the weekend alone with Charlie?

  Chapter 3

  Sara awoke to the sound of a bird singing on her windowsill. Sunlight was streaming through a gap in the worn gold velvet drapes. She threw back the cover and walked to the window, opening it and leaning out to breathe in the clean, brisk air. Then she heard another birdsong, different from the first. She cocked her head to listen. It sounded like ... It sounded like "Eleanor Rigby."

  Shifting her gaze downward, she saw Charlie standing below her window, watching her. He waved.

  "There's coffee in
the kitchen," he called. "I'll meet you there."

  She didn't need coaxing. She pulled on a yellow V-neck sweater and comfortable white jeans, then ran a brush through her hair. She stopped for a moment to stare at her reflection in the dusty mirror. No, there was no evidence on her face of her tumultuous dreams. They had come, just as she had known they would, but fortunately their impact had disappeared with the bright light of day.

  She had been crazy to come, but she wasn't crazy enough to let this weekend affect her. She had enough strength to survive even a weekend with Charlie, she told herself firmly as she left the bedroom.

  When she arrived downstairs, he was waiting for her in the kitchen, holding out a cup of coffee for her. Today he was wearing an orange print shirt that looked three sizes too big and hung open crookedly because he had only managed to close one button. He hadn't shaved, and looked as though he had no intention of doing so.

  "I saw three deer and a raccoon and two rabbits," he said as he leaned one hip against the counter. "One of the deer was Bambi."

  She glanced at him over her coffee cup. "How do you know it was Bambi?"

  "He told me so."

  "Maybe he was lying."

  "You're too cynical. But if you need corroborating evidence, Thumper confirmed it, and who ever heard of a dishonest rabbit?" He shook his head.'The things those two told me about Walt Disney, you wouldn't believe. All my illusions have been shattered."

  Sara studied him for a moment. "How old are you this morning?"

  He set his coffee cup on the counter. "As old as the mountains and as young as spring, Sara Love. Do you want a tour of the place or breakfast first?"

  "Tour, please. I need to see what I'm getting into."

  "The dining room is right through this door." He pushed open a swinging door and bowed deeply. "If madam will step this way."

  Laughing, she shook her head and preceded him into the dining room.

  "Please take note of the Neo-Truck Stop decor," Charlie said in his best, real-estate-agent's voice. "The dining tables utilize the finest simulated wood available in Formica." He moved to a wall. "Over here I want you to examine the remarkable quality of the paintings. See how the red of the bull stands out against the black velvet. And scattered about the room, the piece de resistance, the best plastic ferns money can buy."

  "Enough," she said, holding up a hand. "I'm getting heartburn." She led the way into the lounge. Glancing around thoughtfully, she added, "It looks as if redecorating will be the major expense."

  "I agree. Structurally, it's perfect. Just imagine it with some really good furniture. What we want is understated elegance."

  "Elegance in a ski lodge? I thought they leaned more toward rustic in this area."

  "But we want to be out of the ordinary," he said emphatically. "Don't even think of it as a ski lodge. I want this to be a place for people to come on their honeymoons or to celebrate their silver wedding anniversaries. Lots of romance and old-world charm. We want an elite clientele. Let them come here simply to observe the change in seasons." Charlie's enthusiasm was always one of his outstanding characteristics. Now it was absolutely brimming over. "I want presidents to sleep here."

  "If presidents are going to sleep here we'd probably better change the sheets."

  He looped her arm through his, squeezing it against his body. "It'll be wonderful. I can feel it in my bones."

  She studied his face. "You really are excited about it, aren't you?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "Yes," she said, nodding slowly. Then she smiled. "Yes, I think I am."

  "Come on. Let me show you the grounds. Do you realize how big one hundred acres is?"

  "We're not going to see the whole one hundred right now, are we?" she asked warily as they walked out a side door into an unkempt garden.

  Ignoring her, he gestured to the wide level area around them. "This would be perfect for a garden dining area. If we plant hedges for wind-breaks, we can serve meals out here three-fourths of the year . . . maybe even breakfast and lunch on sunny days in the winter." He pointed to a rise in the distance. "There's a small stream just over that rise. The trout in it are practically sitting up and begging to be caught."

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the woods. "This trail is a little overgrown, but that won't be hard to fix. Eventually, when it gets to be a paying proposition, we can add bridle paths and keep a stable."

  The grass was littered with fallen leaves and twigs that crunched underfoot as they walked. Above them, branches rustled in the soft wind. As they passed, a black-masked raccoon turned tiny, startled eyes toward them, then scurried away. It was a perfect fall day, the kind that made one forget what people had added to the earth.

  "Now aren't you glad you came?" Charlie asked, glancing at her upturned face. "I never could have done justice to this with words or even pictures. It's something that you have to feel, that you have to breathe in."

  She nodded, smiling. "Yes, Charlie. I admit it, you were right."

  Slowing down, he began to pat his pockets. "Damn," he muttered.

  "What is it?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

  "Why is it I never have a tape recorder when I need one?" he said in exasperation. "Your actually admitting I'm right is a once-in-a-lifetime thing."

  She was laughing when the trees and trail ended abruptly. They were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out over a spectacular panorama. The purple mountains stretched before them in ancient splendor, and just below was a lake, its sparkling waters clear and blue and, no doubt, ice cold.

  Sara caught her breath. "You forget how high we are until you see something like this," she said huskily. "It's . . . it's overwhelming."

  Charlie was silent for a long time, staring out over the land. "Sometimes when I'm in Billings," he said softly, "I forget I'm in Montana. It's just another city . . . like St. Louis or Omaha." He raised an arm in a gesture that swept across the startling backdrop. "This is Montana, Sara. This wide-open wildness, the purity of the beauty that pulls the heart right out of you. This is what makes Montana my special place, better and more wonderful than any other place in the world."

  She was silent, feeling as though she were an intruder as she stared at his intense features framed by the harsh mountain vista. She had never heard such depth of emotion in his voice.

  "I had no idea you loved Montana so much," she said, her own voice low and quiet with surprise.

  When his eyes met hers, they were blazing. Then the fire died, and he shrugged. "You never asked." He glanced around. "All this could be ours, Sara Love," he said, sounding more like the Charlie she knew. "We could own the view and the stream, the raccoons and the wrought-iron sconces. What do you say?"

  She took a deep breath. "Okay," she said slowly. "Let's do it."

  His shout of victory echoed around them. He grabbed her and whirled her around.

  "Charlie! I'm getting dizzy," she said, laughing at his unrestrained exuberance.

  He put her down, took one step backward, and tripped over an exposed root. Her laughter grew as he fell, sprawling on the thick layer of leaves.

  "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" he said. Reaching out, he grasped her ankle and pulled her down beside him.

  "You idiot." She gasped, laughing even harder.

  He raised himself on one elbow to look down at her. "It's going to mean a lot of work for both of us," he said, seriously, pulling bits of leafs and grass from her hair. "Anything we can do ourselves will save money."

  "I suppose I can handle the decorating if you'll take care of the landscaping," she said. "I'm not an expert, but I guarantee I can improve on what's there now."

  "I trust your taste implicitly," he said.

  The soft, husky quality of his voice caused her to glance up at him. He was staring at her with the same intensity that had startled her before. Slowly he ran a finger down her cheek to her lips, then he outlined them with a gentleness that made her gasp.

  The slight sound b
rought his eyes back to hers, and she could only stare at him as he lowered his mouth to hers. There was no time for even a token protest as lightning sensations became magnified. His warm lips seemed to sear hers. She knew exactly where each of his fingers lay on her neck and felt the brand of his thumb on her cheek.

  It was the first time in two years that Charlie had kissed her. She hadn't forgotten—Lord, she couldn't forget—how it felt. But she had intentionally pushed it out of her conscious thoughts. It was too dangerous to remember how reality faded under the pressure of his lips. It was too shaming to know that— even if only for a brief moment—nothing in the world mattered beyond his kiss.

  Suddenly realization of what was happening hit her like a slap in the face. She pushed frantically against his shoulders as an unreasonably urgent panic held her in its grip.

  "For heaven's sake, Charlie," she said, her voice hoarse as she rolled away and stood up. "When are you going to grow up?"

  The silence seemed a solid thing as she brushed the crumbling leaves from her clothes. She could feel the curiosity coming from him in waves, and shifted in discomfort.

  Turning toward him, she smiled feebly. "Sorry. I'm always like this before breakfast." She couldn't quite meet his eyes.

  He was silent for just a moment longer, long enough to make her hands tremble.

  "Then let's get something to eat," he said, his voice casual as he stood up. "I've heard of gory deeds that were done because of PBS."

  "Public Broadcasting System?"

  "Pre-Breakfast Syndrome."

  She laughed. There was no tension now. She felt warmth and gratitude toward him simply because he was Charlie. He always managed to say and do just exactly the right thing, even when she had annoyed him. Because above all, Charlie was kind. As they walked back to the lodge, she wondered if he knew what a rare quality that was.

  After breakfast they began to take inventory, deciding what to keep—not much—and what to give to Goodwill—lots. It took a long time, for, although it was a small lodge, every room had to be checked. The bedrooms didn't take a lot of thought, since they were almost identically furnished, but there were storage rooms, offices, the meeting rooms, and two small sitting rooms off the lounge. They decided a detailed listing of items could come later, but even a brief inventory took them all day, with only quick stops for lunch and dinner.