Wolfe Wedding Read Online Free Page A

mountains to the rear.
    All in all, not bad, Sandra decided, hefting the large suitcase onto the bed, then plopping onto the mattress and bouncing to test the resiliency of the springs.
    It would do quite adequately, she thought, shivering in response to the thrill of anticipation that scurried up her back as an image of Cameron Wolfe filled her mind, along with the realization of what the bed would be used for, besides sleeping.
    The temptation was overwhelming to forget every other concern and to settle back, wallowing in the comfort of the mattress. and exciting speculation.
    But, being disciplined and responsible, Sandra resisted the temptation. With an unconscious sigh of longing, she heaved herself from the bed.
    It was now midafternoon on Thursday, and there was work to be done before Cameron’s scheduled arrival. He had told her to expect him sometime around noon, give or take an hour or so, on Saturday.
    Sandra flicked the clasps on the large suitcase and flipped it open. She had to get her tush in gear. She had to unpack, put away her clothes, make up the bed with her own sheets. And then start scrubbing.
    Barbara had given Sandra fair warning that, as she hadn’t been to the cabin since the beginning of December, the place would need a thorough cleaning.
    Barbara had not been overstating the case. Even with her quick initial perusal of the place, Sandra had noted the layer of dust that coated every flat surface, lamp, appliance and knickknack. not to mention the tile and fixtures in the bathroom.
    It was immediately obvious that neither Barbara nor her daughter was very neat or very much inclined toward cleaning up after themselves. Fortunately, that was not reflected in their professional work or their workplace.
    But at the time of her employer’s offer, delighted with the idea of having the use of the isolated retreat, Sandra had shrugged and readily agreed to doing the necessary work involved.
    Still, being willing to do the housekeeping chores and actually doing the work were two entirely different things, especially when one was not, either by nature or by training, particularly domesticated.
    Sandra heaved another sigh as she began removing her clothes from the case. She did not do housework. With the jam-packed client schedule she carried—or had been carrying up until nowshe didn’t have time to do housework, even if she was so inclined. She paid a hefty amount to a professional service to do for her.
    But the cleaning service was in Denver, and she was here, in this isolated cabin. So, Ms. Professional, she told herself, systematically stowing her things in dresser drawers and closets, you’d be well advised to get your act together and get it done.
    Sandra was nearly undone herself when she pulled open the narrow drawer in the bedside nightstand. As small as it was, the gun inside the drawer looked lethal—which, of course, it was.
    Naturally, she had known it was there. Barbara had told her it was there. Still.
    Sandra hated guns. She knew how to handle them, how to use them properly, simply because the use of them had been included in a self-defense class she took while in college. Even so, she hated them.
    Shuddering, she slipped the paperback novels she’d brought with her into the drawer, shoving theweapon, and the accompanying box of cartridges, to the back, out of sight. Then, firmly erasing the ugly thing from her thoughts, she turned to begin working on the bed.
    Did she want Cameron to think she was a slob?
    “Your man flew out of Denver in a private plane at 6:35 this morning.”
    “Heading where?” Cameron asked tersely into the phone. He slanted a glance at his watch. It read 6:51; his operative was right on top of his assignment, as he had fully expected him to be.
    “Chicago.”
    Cameron breathed a sigh of relief; if Whitfield was off to Chicago, on business or whatever, he couldn’t very well be harassing Sandra.
    “Thanks, Steve,” he said. “Who will take over