Welcome to Paradise by Carol Grace

that hard to haul her stuff down to the springs and store them in a cabin?
    The answer was yes, but he did it anyway. He led two of his pack mules down to the road in the rain, loaded all of her goods onto their backs and into their saddlebags and led the way by horseback down the trail, with the rain beating a tattoo on the hood of his parka. And the voice in his head said, “You're a fool, Bowie. A stupid idiot. You think she'll thank you for this and then leave? Is that the deal? Think again.”
    It was coming down hard now. The trail was pure mud and the mules brayed their protest. He felt like braying himself. But he kept going. When they finally reached the springs, he tossed her boxes on the dirt floor of a deserted cabin. He had no idea what condition her groceries were in. That was for her to find out. He'd done enough for her already. Too much.
    He looked around at the old pool, slowly filling with rain water. Noticed the hammock swinging in the wind. Stood there wondering where she was. In one of the other cabins? In the bathhouse? Back in San Francisco? No, that would be too good to be true. Wherever she was, he didn't plan to see her again. He would send her a message. How he would do that, he didn't know. There was no mail delivery at the springs. And carrier pigeon was out.
    Sam. He'd wait a day or two and he'd have Sam make her their final offer. By then, she'd be ready to accept. By then, Sam would see what a misfit she was. What a gorgeous, gutsy, misfit she was. Which was why he was not going to see her again. There was something about her that made it hard for him to stick to his principles. Something about the way she looked at him, with a mixture of stubborn pride and vulnerability. Which was why this was the last, the positively last thing he was going to do with her or for her.
    What if Sam didn't see what a misfit she was? He had this tendency to feel sorry for poor, defenseless creatures. Poor, defenseless Chloe Hudson? Hah! He'd have to think of something else. He didn't even want Sam to meet her.
    He thought so long and so far into the night that he overslept the next morning. Small wonder, since he'd been out in the rain half the night and spent the other half worrying. At least he'd had no dreams about Chloe Hudson to interfere with his rest. She was out of his dreams. Now if only he could get her out of his mind and out of his life. He might still have been sleeping if George, his foreman, hadn't pounded on his bedroom door.
    “Boss, you in there? Somebody here to see you.”
    “What? What time is it? Who is it?” Zeb staggered across the room and opened the door.
    “It's a lady,” George said in a stage whisper, his eyes wide with shock.
    Zeb rocked back on his bare heels. “No further questions. Tell her I'm not here,” he whispered urgently. “Tell her I left the country.”
    “But...I already asked her in for a cup of coffee and a biscuit. She looked so puny, like she could use a bite. She's sittin' at the kitchen table right now,” George added with a nervous glance over his shoulder.
    Zeb closed his eyes for a moment hoping he was dreaming this part. But when he opened them, George was still standing there, staring at him.
    “Okay, okay, I'm coming,” he assured him.
    Zeb dragged his feet as he came down the stairs and approached the kitchen. It wasn't too late to sneak out the front door. On the other hand, maybe she'd come to say goodbye. He didn't want to miss that. Besides, he was hungry. And George's biscuits were worth waking up for.
    Evidently she thought so too, because she was sitting at the table with a thick mug of steaming coffee in front of her, watching George take a pan out of the oven. The kitchen was warm and steamy, fragrant with the smell of his hot flaky biscuits.
    But the minute Chloe looked up at him, and her gaze collided with his, he forgot about food and remembered the way she'd kissed him at the edge of the road. The way she sighed and moaned with