Cat smiled at the hotel staff, chose the arm of the tallest, youngest bellman and sniffed at the little man.
“Herbert, is my suite arranged? I’m exhausted.”
“Of course,” the little man said, nearly bowing as she walked by. “I have seen to everything.” The man glanced at Tucker. “Are you Mr. Janack?” he asked.
Tucker nodded.
“I’m Herbert, Ms. Stoicasescu’s assistant. She told me that she’s looking forward to you joining her for dinner this evening. Along with Ms. Hendrix. I’ve made reservations.”
Tucker thought about pointing out that Fool’s Gold wasn’t a reservation kind of town but figured the poor guy was dealing with enough.
“I have plans for tonight,” Tucker said with a drawl, enjoying his newfound sense of being his own man.
“But you’re expected.” Herbert sounded both afraid and horrified.
“Cat’ll have to learn to live with the disappointment,” he said and flagged a cab.
“But, Mr. Janack…”
Tucker ignored the little man, climbed into the back of the cab and started whistling.
“TELL ME WHY WE’RE HERE,” Dakota said, following Nevada down a hallway at the Gold Rush Ski Lodge and Resort.
“You’re here because you love me,” Nevada told her. “I’m scared to be with Cat by myself.”
“Why?” Montana asked. “She’s a brilliant, world-famous artist. She must be fascinating.”
“You’d think she was,” Nevada said with a sigh. “And in some ways she is. But in others…not so much.”
She didn’t have a better answer to why they were there, because she couldn’t figure out what she was doing there. One second she’d been back at her house, thinking that she needed wine and a bubble bath. The next the phone had rung, it had been Cat saying she desperately wanted to see Nevada, and that it would be a “girls only” evening. Nevada had tried to refuse, but she’d found herself saying yes, compelled by a force she couldn’t explain or, apparently, ignore.
“Cat is like nature. You can try to go on about your day, as if nothing is happening, but she wins in the end,” Nevada told them.
“That sounds intimidating,” Montana admitted.
Dakota studied the names next to the various doors. They were by the main ballroom, but in a hallway that was new to them all.
“What am I looking for?” Dakota asked.
“The private dining room.”
They separated, walking in different directions down the long hallway. The thick carpeting muffled their steps.
“Here it is,” Montana called. “The private dining room.” She pointed to the sign on the wall by a double door. “That’s really what it says.”
Nevada and Dakota joined her.
“Do we knock or just go in?” Dakota asked in a whisper.
“I haven’t a clue,” Nevada admitted, then decided to compromise. She knocked once and pushed the door open, doing her best not to remember that the last time she’d done that, she’d ended up seeing her mother naked and having sex on the kitchen table.
This time, however, the surprises were all good. The dining room was spacious, with a table set for four in the center and sofas lining the walls. There was a bar, French doors leading to a private garden and piped-in music.
Two servers, both good-looking guys in their twenties, smiled at them.
“Ladies,” the taller, blond one said. “Ms. Stoicasescu will join you shortly. She said to welcome you.”
He held out a tray with four glasses of champagne on it.
Dakota whimpered. “This is so unfair.” She turned to the server. “I’m pregnant and can’t have alcohol. Is there another choice?”
“Of course.”
He offered Montana and Nevada champagne, then put down the tray and led Dakota to the bar, where he showed her an assortment of juices and soda. The second server approached with a tray of appetizers.
“Ladies.”
Montana took a prosciutto-wrapped melon ball while Nevada picked up a miniquiche.
“Delicious,” Montana said after she’d chewed and swallowed.
Nevada nodded, still eating her quiche. Cat might be a pain, but she knew how to throw a party.
Fifteen minutes later both Nevada and Montana were on their second glass of champagne and the three of them had made a serious dent in the appetizers. Just when Nevada had nearly forgotten why they were there, the doors opened and Cat swept into the room.
She’d changed into white wool trousers and a white fine-gauge sweater that slipped off one perfect shoulder. Her hair was loose and wavy, her makeup fresh, her diamond-and-pearl earrings large enough to be equal in value to the GDP of a small third world country. She looked like the kind of person who traveled with her own personal spotlight.
“You came,” she said with such delight that Nevada felt guilty for trying to refuse.
Cat walked toward her, hands outstretched. Nevada put down her champagne, then awkwardly took the other woman’s hands in hers.