The Fifth Season (2 page)

She tried not fidgeting, but her hands twisted together of their own accord. He was taller in person than on the video camera. Thick strands of jet-black hair hung well past his collar adding an element of disheveled danger. “Welcome to River Run.”

After an interminable amount of time, Stone Connor reached the front porch. Emma looked up into his face then quickly cast her eyes downward. The emptiness behind his steel blue eyes scared the stuffing out of her. She’d seen that look before. It was the gaze of a trained hunter...a trained murderer.

“Thanks,” he said and pushed rudely past her into the resort. Whistling softly, he inspected the kitchen and main living area. “This is some place.”

“Yes, yes it is. If you like, I’ll show you around.” Emma moved toward him and pointed to the other end of a small sitting area. “Behind those double doors is the master suite. I’ve done some juggling and rearranged the rooms so that you can occupy that area yourself.” She started to walk past him, but his hand whipped out and grabbed her arm. Emma stilled.

“What do you mean juggling?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and glared down at the fingers gripping her skin. His voice might sound like something from the crypt, but she’d be dammed if she’d allow him to physically intimidate her.

“The rooms are fully booked until the end of the season,” she said, prying his hand off her arm and knocking it away.

“Fully booked?” he responded, not paying any heed to the triumphant gleam in Emma’s eyes. “I’m not living with a bunch of people underfoot. Cancel them.”

She frowned, closed her eyes, and begged for patience. He’d been granted a gift that Emma would give her left arm for, not her right…because she needed that to run the resort but definitely her left. She swore silently. He was nothing more than a selfish, arrogant, pretentious jerk. Counting back from five, Emma concentrated on calming the anger that threatened to spew forth giving Old Faithful a run for its money.

She’d worked long and hard to make River Run attain the status of a five-star resort, and he wanted her to
cancel
the reservations?

“Mr. Connor let me explain...” she paused as he turned angry eyes on her.

“No, Miss...What the hell is your name anyway?”

“O’Malley, sir. Emma O’Malley. As I was saying before you rudely interrupted, our guests pay a minimum of fifteen thousand dollars per week to vacation here. I doubt you’d want to give the ranch a bad name by canceling these reservations.” Every muscle in her body wanted to fling itself at Stone Connor, knock him back out the front door, and pray he never returned.

“Fifteen thousand dollars?” Stone stood there, his mouth hanging open.

He looked like the Bass she’d caught several years ago. It was mounted and hung in the living room, a reminder of more carefree days.

“Who would pay
that
to stay here?”

“A lot of people, sir. We’re booked solid until the holidays.” Emma wished she could take
him
to the taxidermy and mount him out front with a plaque that said Rude and Uncaring Grandson.

“What? That’s nearly six months away?”

“I’m certain you’ll manage. Have you hired a new manager?” Emma swallowed past the lump in her throat. It hurt to imagine someone else performing her duties, duties that she had created and perfected.

“A what? What on earth are you going on about?”

His eyes were a flat screen of nothing as he stared at her, demanding an explanation. Emma sighed deeply. Slapping the pointy end of her Irish temper back in place, she spoke slowly and deliberately. “A new manager. I’ll be leaving shortly, Mr. Connor, per your wishes.”

“I don’t make wishes, Ms. O’Malley. And I certainly don’t recall asking you to leave.”

“Are you selling this place or not?” she demanded, her fear making her sound slightly hysterical.

“Of course I’m selling.”

Emma’s heart battered against her chest. The mere thought of having to begin filling in applications for rent and work ignited a panic that made her feel as if she’d waded into wet concrete. But none of it showed. Her eyes remained calm, her hands clasped firmly against their insistent quaking. “Then I’m leaving.”

“You don’t have to leave for another twelve months,” he stated lightly as if it meant no more to him than asking for a piece of paper.

Had she heard right? Emma shook her head and glared at the man before her. “What’re you talking about Mr. Connor?”

“The provision of the Will is that I remain here for four seasons or else it reverts to someone else.”

Furrowing her brow, Emma attempted to process all angles. It seemed to her that his solution stood right before him; but when she went to open her mouth to say so, his hand shot up to silence her.

“No more questions,” he grumbled, his voice rough and edgy. “But you can stay, at least until you figure a way to dump these guests.”

She bristled at his caustic comment regarding River Run’s patrons. “Mr. Connor may I point out a fact to you?”

He sighed and stood silent, raising his brows for her to continue.

She shook her head and inhaled in an attempt to not physically smack the arrogance off his face. “If you choose to close River Run, then it won’t be a very profitable business to sell next summer, will it?”

Emma’s saw his mind working. His eyes never showed one iota of emotion, but his jaw tensed and he frowned.

“I need to think on that.”

She offered a half-smile, praying she’d won her first battle. If she could convince him to stay, make the resort work, and show him exactly how valuable an employee she was, maybe he’d reconsider selling.

Her identity would be safe.

She would be safe.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Stone commanded.

“Like what?” Emma replied, shocked at his anger.

“Like I’m gonna save ya,” he said. “I’m a long time gone from that business.”

Emma shook her head and stepped back, slightly discombobulated at his insight. She looked at Stone Connor closely for the first time since he’d arrived. For all she’d been through in her twenty-eight years, Emma had become a very good judge of character.

Maybe it was due to her father’s coaching in her early childhood on working the room with visiting political members, but she had an innate ability to read people and instinctively understand what made them tick and how to approach them. It’d been an invaluable asset in managing River Run. She swore when she realized her pre-occupation had blocked this sense.

Stone snarled once more and strode past her to the back deck. She recognized the defensive
I don’t give a damn armor
. It didn’t bother her; two could play that game. She traipsed behind him.

“That’s a tributary from the Snake River,” she said, trying to connect on some level, attempting to allow her sixth sense its freedom and provide her with insight.

He remained silent. Aloof. Emma studied his face. High cheekbones dropped to a firm, intense mouth. No laugh lines there, she mused. At least she figured there weren’t any -- his entire face was cloaked in hair.

She avoided direct contact with his eyes. Their empty, soulless depths bothered her. He topped her by a good foot. Every muscle rippled, tensed to battle some invisible enemy. The fact that Margaret had rarely spoken about Stone suddenly dawned on her.

“Over to the left,” she rambled. “Is an old graveyard that belonged to the family who first settled here in the early eighteen hundreds.”

She stepped back as he turned to her, piercing her with steely eyes.

“Why do I need to know this?”

She shrugged, her unease flooding back. “I thought you might be interested,” she said kicking herself internally for her mousy voice.

“You thought wrong. Where’d you say my room was?”

Squaring her shoulders, Emma met his gaze. “There’s no need to be rude.”

“There’s no need to be friendly.”

“I wasn’t being friendly, I was being polite. There’s a huge difference. Friendly would mean I care.” Let him fire her. She ignored the stream of fear gurgling beneath her pitiful display of courage. He was a hideous man with no manners, and she’d not tolerate him. A deep rumbling emanated from his chest followed by a derisive snort.

Was he laughing at her?

She stood as tall as possible, her back as straight as the Lodgepole Pines scattered across the yard. A grin spread across Stone’s face, sending an unfamiliar parade of sizzling sparks along her nerve endings.

His eyes lit, and she thought a spark of something flashed within their steel depths, but it was gone as quick as it came.

“I think we’ll get along just fine Ms. O’Malley. Just make sure you stay polite,” he said.

“Polite won’t be a problem, Mr. Connor. Please follow me. I’ll show you to your room.” Curiosity snuck out from behind her emotional fence and tickled her mind. Stone Connor was an enigma, and it bothered her.

They entered the house, and she led him toward the western corner.

“Tell me, Ms. O’Malley, how long have you been employed here.”

She tensed at his question but quickly realized it was normal under the circumstances. “Fifteen years, Mr. Connor. I’ve lived here for fifteen years.”

“You were only a child?” he said, his voice laced with astonishment. “Why would Grandmother hire a child?”

“I was more than capable,” she responded icily. She needn’t elaborate on her past. He was prying.

“Capable of what? Doing your homework?”

“My past really is of no concern to you, Mr. Connor. I’m more than qualified to perform my duties.”

Stopping in front of a large wooden door, Emma twisted the glass knob and opened it. She walked into the center of the sitting room for the master suite, verifying everything was in order. With a nod, Emma turned to head out and slammed smack into a concrete wall.

Eye level with his chest, she inhaled sharply as his scent invaded her senses.

Stone grabbed her upper arms, his fingers tightened painfully, and she winced.

Gazing up, her eyes met an entirely different wall. A wall of blue fire that burned right into the center of her soul.

“What game are you playing?”

“I don’t understand?” Emma said, trying to clear the cobweb of physical awareness that spread across her brain.

“You and my grandmother? What game is this? You’ve lived here for fifteen years, and she willed the place to me? If this is some hair-brained scheme to reintroduce me into society, then you can stop the charade right now. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Emma’s heart was doing a great rendition of a paddleball game. She hated this feeling. “Let go of me, you’re hurting my arms.”

“Not until you tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” She cringed as her voice rose several octaves. “I don’t understand this madness any more than you do. I created this place. I brought the clientele here. I wanted nothing in return but a little security. Nothing but a home to stay in.” Her voice rose in crescendo until she practically screamed the last few words at him.

He released her in obvious shock. She swallowed quickly controlling anymore words from spewing forth and continuing this regrettable outburst. “I’m entitled to my rages as well, you know. You haven’t cornered the market yet,” she said, fighting to regain her internal balance.

He flashed that grin again. Emma ignored the gone-over-the-hill-too-fast-left-my-tummy-behind jig feeling it evoked.

She needed air. “I’ll be preparing dinner for eight o’clock, until then help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen.”

Emma spun and exited the suite before she did something stupid like slug him. These were uncommon urges for her and extremely unsettling. She raced through the resort into the comforting environment of her private apartment.

Emma paced from cubby-sized room to cubby-sized room, absently rearranging knick-knacks given as parting gifts from appreciative guests.

Space.

She needed space. Stripping out of her jeans and into a pair of grungy khaki gardening shorts, Emma knotted her hair on top of her head and headed outside.

Retrieving a rusty blue wheelbarrow from the barn, she piled her pruning shears and gloves inside.

The scent of hay and the warm summer sun smoothed her tangled emotions. Emma wove between the white hens that were scattered across the barnyard and headed out past the horse pasture.

“Tomorrow would be a good day to gather eggs,” she said to herself, realizing she’d forgotten this morning.

She couldn’t prevent the giggle that emerged as the back of her legs were nudged by little furry heads. Rhett and Scarlet, the resort’s pair of Pygmy Goats, danced behind her. They followed her happily, frolicking in the grass and chasing butterflies. Passing a grove of quaking aspens, Emma arrived at her destination.

A patch of wildflowers grew in abundance, shimmering beneath the sunlight in an ocean of blues, purples and yellows. Emma carefully selected the flowers she wished to display, clipped them, and placed them gently in the wheelbarrow. She then knelt and pulled at the stubborn weeds sprouting from between the carefully laid brick border. She smiled at the silly antics of the goats. They were everywhere. In her garden, down the field, back to the garden, and up to the house.

It was times like this that all her troubles faded away. Life was good and wonderful. The velvet petals on her Black Eyed Susans were a miracle of nature, fragile yet sturdy enough to battle the stiff western breeze that blew through the valley.

Emma inhaled the sweet afternoon scent. Suddenly, things weren’t all that bad. She’d tolerate Stone Connor, and maybe…somehow, talk him into keeping River Run. Her heart swelled to near bursting at the thought of not having to leave the ranch.

A loud curse and panicked squeal spurred Emma out of her daydreams and into a dead run. She raced up the hill, the goats grunting happily as they nipped at her heels. Hurdling the white picket fence outside the master bedroom, she darted through the open French doors and discovered what she’d feared.

Stone, crouched in a fighter’s stance, waved a malicious looking knife at the one thing she valued more than River Run.