"Miss Bradley, I’m shocked at you," a mild, deep voice said at her elbow. A hand in a dark-brown leather glove set the revolving door in motion, and Gayle was through it and into the lobby before she recovered herself.

"What are you doing back so soon?" she accused.

"Were you plotting a coup in my absence?" Jared Logan countered.

"Of course not. But I didn’t think anything could get you out of the sunshine a minute sooner than necessary."

"On the contrary. I came home Saturday." He looked tired, as if the fast trip had drained his strength.

Or perhaps, Gayle thought cattily, Natalie Weston had been more demanding than usual last night. If indeed it was still Natalie, and not some new charmer— an airline flight attendant, perhaps. Oh, well, she thought. She’d know soon enough—when he told her where to send the flowers.

Gayle nodded a greeting to Thomas, who was on his best behavior at the information desk. Then she stepped into the elevator and leaned against the wrought iron grillwork.

"It was almost exactly a month," she pointed out, addressing the mirrored ceiling as the elevator creaked into action. "Why do you keep the place if you don’t like it?"

"I love it. It’s just too far from Denver."

"Then why not sell it and find something closer?"

"Pine Rest," she murmured. "It sounds so much better in Spanish, especially when you say it." In fact, she thought, with his dark hair, heavy tan, and moustache, he looked a little like a caballero himself.

"Miss Bradley, you sound almost like a romantic."

She smiled. "Don’t kid yourself, Mr. Logan."

The elevator gave a sudden lurch, and Gayle’s stomach protested just as it always did on a roller coaster. Then the lights died, the ventilating fan went off, and the elevator hung unmoving in the shaft.