Snowbound

wall.

“Oh.” She gave a weak laugh. “I’m practically

tripping over them. Well, now I feel dumb.”

“Don’t.”

Her laugh became slightly more genuine, if a touch

hysterical. There he went again. Anybody else would

have said, It’s okay, you were being considerate. Or,

Anybody could have missed seeing them. But if John

Fallon could compress twenty words into one, he did.

She grabbed almost at random for something to say.

“You must get sick of laundry during your busy season.”

He reached for a towel from the basket and folded

with quick efficiency compared to her more deliberate

efforts. He was reaching for another by the time she was

half done with one, even though his hands looked too

large to be so deft.

“If you’re here for long, we’ll put the kids to work

on laundry, too.”

Her embarrassment was fading, thank goodness. She

chuckled. “The beauty of unpaid guests.”

“Maybe I should lower my rates in exchange for labor.”

“You could make the whole stay do-it-yourself,”

Fiona suggested. “Kitchen privileges, bathroom privileges, but leave ’em clean.”

“You can’t imagine how appealing that is.” His tone

was heartfelt, less guarded than usual.

“Oh, I don’t know. After a few days of cleaning up

after them—” she nodded toward the kitchen “—I’m

sure I’ll be in complete sympathy.”

“They’re done in the kitchen.”

A non sequitur? Or not?

She braced herself. “Is it clean?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“But you’ve seen better.”

He shrugged. “They’re kids.”

She should have continued supervising. “I’ll finish up.”

“I already did.”

She winced. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He raised his brows. “Do what?”

She forgot she held a towel in her hands. “Work

nonstop. I feel guilty.”

“You’ve worked nonstop today, too,” he pointed out.

“But they’re my job. My responsibility.”

“And the lodge is mine.” While folding the last towel,

he made it sound inarguable.

As, she supposed, it was. He couldn’t want a crowd

of teenagers trashing Thunder Mountain Lodge, even

though he seemed less than enthusiastic as an innkeeper.

“What are they up to now?” she asked.

“I offered some games. Most of them are in front of

the fireplace playing them. I think a few are upstairs.”

Not one boy and one girl, she hoped.

“Amy?”

“Last I looked, sulking because someone else

already took Boardwalk.”

“Oh, dear.”

He frowned. “Quit worrying about them.”

“But they’re…”

“Your responsibility. I know. But they’re not toddlers.”

“No, they’re teenagers, which is almost worse.”

Why did he look irritated? Was he tired of her fussing?

He picked up the piled towels before she could. “I’ll

put these away.”

“I can…”

He ignored her, of course. Frustrated, she watched

him limp out of the laundry room, leaving her to the

sound of running water in the washer and the spinning

dryer. Why did the wretched man have to be so hard to

read? And why couldn’t he be, oh, fifty years old,

balding and potbellied? Or the wizened old man Dieter

had said used to own the lodge?

Fiona sighed and went to see what the kids were up

to.

She found them sprawled in chairs and on the floor

around a couple of different gameboards. Dieter,

Hopper, Tabitha and Amy played Monopoly, Kelli and

Troy Chinese checkers. Erin was curled like a cat in an

upholstered chair reading. Only Willow was missing.

“Anybody seen Willow?”

They hardly glanced up.

“Nope.”

“Not in a while.”

“Uh-uh.”

Fiona hesitated, hating to look as if she was following

John, but finally started up the stairs. He was just closing

the door to the linen closet when she reached the top.

“Missing a kid,” she said. “Seen one?”

He shook his head. “Let me know if you need help.”