Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

R ae

"Shh, you'll wake up Nora and Henry," I whisper as the teen and I both dissolve into laughter. Imogen nearly slides off the bed from laughing so hard. I swipe at my eyes, but my fingers come back with green glitter amongst the tears. Imogen was given free rein to do my makeup, but the girl doesn't have a subtle bone in her body.

As predicted, Nora begins to stir, a little whimper at first and then she cries out my name. I hop off the bed in the hotel suite and head for the adjoining room where I laid her and Henry down for the night after reading aloud her favorite book exactly three times. Henry is sound asleep, his hands stacked under his cheek on his side.

"Hey, my pretty girl," I coo quietly, sitting on the bed and pushing curly hair off her face. "Sorry. Was I being too loud?"

"You and Immy are having fun without me?" she whimpers, tugging at my heartstrings. Nora, Morgana's only child with Aksel, is an absolute angel. They both tease that it had to have been an immaculate conception. Nora didn't get either of her parents' spicy personalities.

"Come on, then. You can join the fun too." I pick her up, inhaling the little-girl scent of her as she wraps her arms around my neck. I take her into the bedroom where Imogen has righted herself, a pair of eyelashes as big as butterflies in her hands.

I groan and Imogen laughs. Nora joins in, not knowing what's funny, but if her big sister is laughing, so is Nora. She adores Imogen, following her around and copying everything she does. Considering she's only five, she gets frustrated when she can't keep up with her big sissy.

"I'm going to glue on eyelashes, Nora. Wanna watch?" Imogen adds, patting the bed for her sister. Nora scrambles out of my arms and attaches herself to Imogen's side.

Dutifully, I sit back on the bed and let Imogen glue three-pound lashes to my eyelids. "Not too much glue!"

Imogen has her tongue caught in her teeth, concentrating on getting the glue just right while Nora jumps up and down on the bed in excitement.

"Okay, hold real still, Nora." The little girl plops down obediently. I say a silent prayer for the safety of my eyeballs and close my eyes.

Imogen settles the fake lash strips on my own lashes, blowing on them slightly to get the glue to dry. Only when she and Nora are satisfied the job is done well does Imogen instruct me to open my eyes. I do, but only with considerable effort. These things really do feel like they weigh three pounds apiece.

Nora giggles and starts jumping again. Imogen claps her hands and reaches for her phone to take pictures. I humor her, angling this way and that, pursing my lips comically. I'm sure I look like Glamour Shots meets Vegas showgirl, but if it makes a moody teen happy, I'm all for it. When Imogen has taken enough shots, Nora crawls in my lap and stares up at me like I'm an exotic creature.

"Should we put on a movie and eat five pounds of sugar?" Imogen asks, tucking her phone in her pocket and already on to the next thing.

"I don't know. Your parents might not be too happy with me," I drawl, standing up with Nora in my arms. We already ate roughly a pound of chocolate between the four of us earlier tonight.

Then again, Morgana and Aksel won't be back for another couple of hours. The wedding reception they're attending is scheduled to go until two in the morning. Entering the living room, I glance out the window and nearly trip over my own two feet. The snow is coming down like a sheet of pure white. I rush over so Nora and I can press our noses against the glass. It fogs up quickly, which makes Nora giggle again.

Worry niggles in the back of my brain, but I know the staff packed the wedding tent with heaters. Hopefully I can still get back to my house tonight. Havenkirk is completely sold out for the celebrity wedding. Not that I could afford the price if a room had actually been available.

"Well, crap!" Imogen shouts from the kitchenette.

"Well, crap!" Nora parrots.

I lift an eyebrow at the little girl and she buries her head in my shoulder with a giggle. "Little ears," I mutter loudly enough for Imogen to hear. She winces, but then holds up the snack basket which contains exactly one bag of flaming hot chips.

Henry comes toddling out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Whas' cwap?"

With a sigh, I put Nora down on the couch and cover her with a throw blanket, waving for Henry to join her. "Come up here and snuggle, Henry. Rae is about to rescue this sleepover. Imogen, you watch Nora and Henry. I'll go rustle up some sugary snacks."

The hotel has to have something on hand. Most of the nonessential staff cleared out for the storm, and the rest are in that wedding tent right now, but there has to be someone left behind manning the kitchen.

Imogen, knowing snacks are on the line, snuggles up to her baby sister and our new friend. She gives me a thumbs up. "We'll watch some cartoons."

I point at her, my face stern. "Age appropriate, please."

She doesn't answer, but I'm pretty sure she'll comply. You just never know with teens. Grabbing a card key, I slip into my suede ankle boots and head out. The hallways are empty with everyone at the wedding. The elevator takes me down to the main floor. Not one person is availing themselves of the crackling fire in the huge hearth downstairs. With warm leather couches, throw blankets, and dark rock accents that highlight the wood-beamed open ceilings, the main lobby looks like it's straight out of a movie. If I had enough time, I'd take a picture and try to recreate it with acrylic on canvas.

Not one person is manning the reception desk. I bite my lip, pausing. Those hallways in the back of a hotel are always a labyrinth, easy to get lost in and no guarantee I'll end up in the kitchen. I don't want to go back there if I can help it. Then my gaze snags on a shelf behind the front desk and tucked into the corner. Brightly colored packages of chips and cookies and candies.

"Jackpot," I announce to the empty lobby.

Moving quickly, I slip behind the desk and start grabbing packages. The more I take, the more my own mouth starts watering. Forgetting to eat dinner will do that to a girl. Before I get charged with stealing, I grab a sticky note off the front desk and explain that the missing snacks should be billed to Morgana. I stick that to the computer monitor and return to filling my arms with goodies.

With a spin on my heels, I dart back around the desk and run straight into a wall of muscle. I blink my surprise, my mouth falling open. Time slows, and before I can open my eyes again, my nose registers a faint whiff of cologne and man sweat. The good kind. The pheromone kind that makes your thighs lock stiff and your nipples pucker. I manage to flick my eyes open, needing to see the owner of this glorious scent and immediately wonder why there's a black veil over one eye. I blink again and the veil falls to the floor, suspiciously looking like a fake eyelash.

I realize with dawning horror, two things. One, I still have on the Vegas showgirl makeup Imogen applied with the heaviest of hands. Two, I'm staring at the most handsome man I've ever had the pleasure of seeing up close. Hutton Calder. Famous country singer and the one man I would have sold my soul to get one night with. I can't tell you how many of his concerts I've been to, taking on extra jobs just to afford the pit tickets to see him up close.

Hutton hooks his gorgeous lips into a smirk and glances down at the candy stuffed in my arms before staring at his boots. It takes me much longer to remember to breathe, let alone follow his gaze, and therefore it's only as his velvety smooth deep voice caresses my skin that I realize my fake lash has landed on the toe of his cowboy boot.

"Looks like you dropped something, sugar," he drawls.

My knees start quaking. Hot damn, he's even hotter face-to-face than up on the stage with a guitar in his hands and sweat darkening his shirt. His current T-shirt stretches across his chest and biceps just the perfect amount to make a woman's mouth water but not look like he's trying too hard. The jeans. Dear God, don't get me started on the soft jeans that mold to his impossibly muscled thighs.

"You're my hall pass," I think, still stunned at running into him and remembering how my ex-husband and I had made a list back when we were young and foolish. Back before things went south and we parted ways with a much more mature view of the world. Not that twenty-eight is the ceiling of my maturity, clearly.

Except it's not in my head. The words are out loud and Hutton Calder's gaze is back on my face and that smirk is getting smirkier.

"Pardon?" He leans in a little closer and my lungs spasm with the scent of him.

Fuck. I'm better than this. Aren't I? I can form one coherent sentence that won't embarrass myself, right? I shake my head and then quickly stop when I feel the other set of lashes start to give.

"I mean, I love your music." Is that my voice? Jesus. I sound like I swallowed helium.

Hutton squats down and my mouth drops open at the sight of those thighs flexing. He plucks my eyelash strip from his boot and two of the bags of M&M's I must have dropped to the floor on impact. When he stands, he hesitates, probably wondering just how crazy I am and how likely he is to die because of a rabid fan, before he plops the candy in my arms and sticks the lashes on my forearm.

"I may have a few more gray hairs these days, but I know what a hall pass is, sugar." He winks. Hutton Calder fucking winks at me.

And I die.

I must because I can't feel my nose any longer and my cheeks have taken on a fever that can't be conducive to life. Hutton's eyebrow wings up as he once again gazes at the plethora of candy in my arms.

"These aren't for me," I gush, tongue suddenly free from the tight grip it was in previously. "I'm a nanny and the restaurant staff has gone home and the kids are hungry and I forgot dinner, so I might have some, but certainly not all. I mean, how could one person eat all this? It's probably not great for the kids, but they don't have this every day. It's just a treat. A onetime thing, you know?"

Hutton holds up his hand and I literally have to bite my lip to stop the flow of words. "Let's get you back to your room, sugar."

If he keeps calling me sugar, I might drop to the floor and propose marriage. Or a one-night stand. Either would kill me, but what a way to die. Before I can embarrass myself with either offer, he puts his warm calloused hand on my elbow, and I drop every single candy to the floor once again.

Dagny: Someone stole all our candy at the lodge. I'm looking at you, Fancy Nancy.

Mayor Nancy Haney: I'm at home, Dagny. Because there's a snowstorm about to hit, remember? Plus I'm off sugar.

Chief Blade: Do you need me to swing by to take a statement?

Doc: Relax, Dag. I poured another round of drinks for my customers tonight. Snowstorms can be fun. Let your guests live a little.

Dagny: Thank you, Chief, for taking theft seriously. Unlike these other losers.

John Ross: I'm sure you'll find the wrappers when you clean the rooms. Boom, mystery solved.

Mayor Nancy Haney: Thank you, John, for entering the chat with common sense.

Doc: You sure you didn't have a senile moment and eat the candy yourself?

Chief Blade: Let's not fan the flames, folks.

Dagny: I know you've sauced your brain cells in beer over the years, Doc, but I didn't eat the candy. I was at the wedding. The one you weren't invited to.

Doc: Now that's just hurtful, Dagny. Here I am crying in my frosty beer mug all snug in my bar while you're stuffed into a fancy dress at some overpriced shindig with self-important people.

Dagny: The only person stuffed tonight should be that fancy singer because of her new husband. *wink emoji*

Mayor Nancy Haney: Okay. Stop texting, please.

Dagny: Don't go all ba-humbug just 'cause you're jealous, Nancy.

John Ross: Damn. Women are brutal.