Makin' Whoopee Read Online Free Page A

another. "Dinner's on me."
    "If you think I'm going to argue, you're crazy," she said, relaxing with a sigh. "I'll have French onion soup and a grilled-cheese sandwich."
    He laughed. "On the double." From a hook above the stove he pulled one of the pots she had cleaned, and opened the canned soup. "You know, there's something about this place. I think I'm in love already."
    "There's something about it, all right," she said dryly. "Like ten years of dirt and dust."
    "Fixable, Sara Lovelight, fixable." He moved with surprising efficiency as he prepared their spartan meal. "Elbow grease is cheap. But I warn you, you're going to have to use your imagination when you look around the place."
    "That doesn't sound promising. This part is pretty depressing. What does the rest of it look like?"
    "Actually, it's not bad, except ..."
    "Except?"
    "How do you feel about Spanish decor?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
    "You're kidding. In a Montana mountain lodge?"
    His eyes sparkled with laughter. "Honest to God. Spanish. Scads and scads of dark wood and black wrought iron. If we wanted high camp we wouldn't have to touch a thing. I can't wait to show you."
    She yawned. "Show me tomorrow, when my brain isn't so foggy."
    "You'll love it. I guarantee it."
    She stared at his back for a moment. "How many times have I heard you say that to a client?" When he merely chuckled, she added, "Now I know what it feels like to be a fish waiting to be reeled in."
    Nothing she said could dampen his enthusiasm, and as they ate she listened to his plans for the lodge—if they decided to buy it. After their meal she washed the few dishes they had used, while Charlie checked out the central heat. He had been gone for fifteen minutes when she looked speculatively at the three kitchen doors, and pushed open the one that led to the front of the lodge.
    She found herself in a large lounge with a cathedral ceiling that rose two stories. On three sides high windows were covered by drooping, dusty velvet drapes. Parts of the room were clothed in shadow, making the area look vast and empty. But the parts she could see were at least in better shape than the kitchen.
    At the back of the lounge, staircases on either side climbed to a railed balcony. Five doors opened off the corridor, leading, she presumed, to rooms above the kitchen. At the far ends of the balcony she could see archways that must lead to the wings.
    Moving closer to the fireplace, on one wall she saw a wooden bar, and beyond that a small dance floor. It was everything a lodge should be. Not too elaborate; not too primitive.
    Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned. "Except for the furniture, this room isn't bad at all," she said.
    Charlie suddenly grabbed her and bent her back, his blue eyes wide and dramatic. She was shocked by the sudden and unbidden need to pull him close. "We're alone," he whispered heavily. She couldn't pinpoint his accent, but it was something between a Hungarian gypsy and Charles Boyer. "Scream, if you like. There is nothing living to hear you." He laughed maniacally. "You are helpless, fair lady Love, totally in my power."
    She gazed at him in unconcerned silence, then said calmly, "Do you see my knee, Charlie?"
    He glanced down and nodded.
    "Let me go or you'll never father a child."
    He grinned, and lowered her to a massive ottoman. "Party pooper. It's not bad, is it?" he said, glancing around the room. He sat in a chair beside her, then waved his hand at the cloud of dust that rose around him. "I can't believe they thought this room called for Spanish furniture. And the walls . . . What color would you say they are?"
    "Bile green?"
    "Close," he agreed, chuckling. "These tall windows and the high ceiling will be spectacular when we rip down the velvet drapes."
    "When?"
    "Okay, if." Raking his gaze over her face, he said, "I'm glad you could come with me. You needed a weekend away from the business. You get too wrapped up in it."
    "I thought we were down here on