Just Once by Julianna Keyes Page A

the cabin cleaning, so I dug out the old checklist we used to use when I first worked here.” I catch Becca and Janie sharing a look that clearly says a million years ago , but I ignore them. “I want you to use it when cleaning your cabins. When you’re done, come find me and I’ll inspect your work. Anything that’s not up to par will be done again—and again, if necessary—until it is. Understand?”
    “What about lunch?” Janie asks, a whiny note in her voice.
    “What about it?”
    “If we have to do all this, how will we have time to prepare for lunch?” She waves the half-page checklist as though it’s a giant dictionary. “It’s too much!”
    “You haven’t even tried it yet.”
    “But—”
    “And it’s pretty basic stuff. Make the beds, replace the towels.”
    “We’ve been doing that.”
    “On occasion. Let’s start doing it all the time.”
    “But—”
    “We’re wasting time. Head out.”
    Becca and Janie offer a split-second evil glare of mutiny before whirling on their heels and storming off. Hailey lingers.
    “Sorry about this morning,” she says, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have let that other stuff carry over.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I understand.”
    We’re cleaning the farthest cabins, so we walk out together. “So what did happen last night? I thought the ranch hands never went to the bar?” I try to hide my personal interest in the question.
    “They don’t,” she says. “But last night they showed up about an hour after we’d gotten there. They mostly kept to themselves, but I bumped into Brandon when he was at the bar and one thing led to another…Well, to two dances and a bit of groping.”
    I think about seeing Shane at the pool. He must have gone to the bar right after our encounter. Did he leave when he realized I’d stayed behind? What on earth for? Dammit, why didn’t I go to the bar?
    “Then I guess he went back home and immediately forgot about me,” Hailey adds. “Because when I brought in the food this morning he didn’t even look up. Didn’t say a word.”
    “They’re not much for talking,” I agree. “Just eating.”
    She laughs. “Yep.”
    We part ways, and I climb the wooden steps to the now-familiar cabin nine. The family staying here isn’t particularly messy, so cleanup doesn’t take too long. I even double-check that I’ve completed all the chores on the list, just in case one of the girls decides to verify my work. Before leaving I give the window in the master bedroom a second look, but it’s free of bats and other rodents, and twenty minutes later I’m entering cabin ten, which is a disaster. For some reason none of the bedding is on the beds. Or the floor. Upon searching I find it in the bathtub, which is full of water. I don’t know if I’m more confused or disgusted. It looks like they emptied the entire bottle of complimentary shampoo into the water as well. Did they think they had to do their own laundry?
    I sigh and jog back to the supply room to get a hamper, fill it with brand new bedding, then jog back to the cabin. I shimmy into some new rubber gloves, grimace as I collect the sodden linens, then dump them on the porch and resume cleaning the cabin, which, thanks to my damn checklist, takes forever. Wipe down windowsills. Seriously? Like these guys are checking for dust.
    An hour later cabin ten is clean, and my face is shiny with sweat. I trudge over to my final cabin with my basket of cleaning supplies, then return to drag the basket of wet bedding behind me. Thankfully cabin eleven is in decent shape and after a quick wipe down and swapping out the towels, I’m done. At least I think I am. Just as I reach the door I hear a faint whoosh, then the telltale flapping of wings. I whirl around just in time to see a tiny dark flash zip into the bedroom.
    Nooooooo. It can’t be.
    I tiptoe to the bedroom door—this time the children’s room—and peek inside. Nothing moves. Except—is the