The Resort by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online Page B

get to wherever he was going at—she glanced over at the clock—one fifteen in the morning.
    Where could he be going? While he was carrying a rake, it was highly unlikely that he would be doing grounds work in the middle of the night. True, resorts and other high-end businesses sometimes made their hired help work in the wee small hours so as not to disturb guests. But while custodians could buff lobby floors thanks to inside lights, it was pretty close to impossible to prune flowers or trim bushes outside in the dark.
    She thought of going back to bed, wanting to just put this night behind her and wake up when the world was fresh and sunny, but she had to look, she had to know, and once more she moved next to the window.
    He was still in the same spot, looking up at her, and the second she peeked down through the slats at him, he raised his weaponlike rake as if in greeting.
    And then . . .
    he danced.
    It was a strange little jig, lasting only a few seconds, but it was clearly for her benefit, and she held her breath as lightning flashed and the man danced crazily, feet stomping furiously on the grass, hands twirling the rake. Then he was gone, disappearing into the night.
    Rachel exhaled, unaware until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. She scanned the ground below, looking for any sign of the gardener, but he was gone. Glancing into the sky at a fading flash of lightning, the clouds were once again just clouds. The show was over.
    She didn’t like The Reata. From the guy who’d stolen their room to the psychotic gardener, it seemed to her that everything was going wrong; this place was turning out to be the antithesis of everything they’d expected, and the thought of staying here another four nights made her feel more than a little apprehensive.
    But there was nothing they could do about it now. Even if they took off tomorrow and canceled the rest of their stay, they would still have to pay for all five nights, and she knew Lowell would not be willing to write off that kind of money—even if she did somehow manage to convince him that a spooky gardener had been prowling the grounds at one in the morning and a demonic cloud face had been looking at her through the window.
    She was overreacting, she told herself.
    Tired and emotionally exhausted, she climbed back into bed. Lowell stirred next to her as she settled into place. “What is it?” he asked groggily.
    â€œNothing,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

FRIDAY

Five
    It was after eight when Lowell awoke. Curtis and Owen were already at the pool. Rachel and Ryan were seated at a table in front of the television, drinking orange juice from the minibar and eating Entenmann’s muffins that they’d brought with them in the ice chest. The room was full of children’s show chatter and bright desert sunshine, and Lowell realized that he must have been pretty damn tired to stay asleep through all that.
    He put on one of The Reata robes from the closet and grabbed a muffin, sitting down. A copy of USA Today had been delivered to their room and was lying on the table in front of him. “I was thinking of going to that lap pool,” he told Rachel. “Swimming twenty minutes or so each morning to get some exercise while we’re here. Maybe checking out the weight room.”
    She reached over and stuck her hand between the folds of the robe, pinching the roll of fat around his middle. “That’s a fine idea.”
    He patted her stomach. “Feel free to join me.”
    Laughing, she squirmed away. “I’m on vacation.”
    Neither of them mentioned what had happened last night—
    panties
    â€”and he wasn’t sure if that was because Ryan was here or because they wanted to pretend that it hadn’t occurred. Both, probably. But he was acutely aware of the fact that beneath their surface jocularity, a darker layer had been added on to the vacation and no matter how