Stupid. He needed one of those signs that said: Be calm and have a double shot of whiskey.
A colourful piece of paper caught his eye. It had been folded into an elaborate three-dimensional origami star, and it looked totally out of place on the delicate antique table that had obviously been moved from its regular position along the wall to a spot in the middle of the hall. The note had his name written on some of the outstretched prongs, and he picked up the creation with a rising sense of dismay.
He didn’t want her writing love notes, and that’s what the bright pink paper seemed to indicate.
But the actual contents of the page surprised him. When he unfolded the sheet of construction paper all he discovered was his name on the front, and on the opposite side the words We need to talk.
He walked slower, his shoes sinking into the thick, plush carpet, the massive windows facing to the south, dark and cold. Only the table lamps and wall sconces cast golden glows on the pristine wallpaper and plaster, warming his path.
Another piece of paper, this one folded into a bright green tree, sat on the floor, and he stooped to grab it. Inside, her writing went from neat to messy, as if she’d written in a hurry or she’d grown more agitated in the process.
I’m sorry for leading you on.
Jim blinked. That made no sense at all. Just who was this woman he’d been sent?
Next note: a pale blue bird shape, the dark black writing bold and firm in contrast, and this time Jim swore, not believing his eyes as the message appeared. I was fine with marrying you up until a week ago, but now I can’t.
Holy. Shit.
Maybe this was going to work out better than he thought. He followed the trail of notes down the hall, snatching them up and reading with a rapidly rising hope.
Red, folded into the shape of a maple leaf: I’ve fallen in love with a wonderful man—well, I think he’s wonderful. I haven’t told him that yet.
Two more steps to reach an orange circle, like a shining sun: He deserves love, and so do I.
A purple crescent moon hung balanced on the edge of a lamp beside the guest room: So, I hope you’ll be okay with us breaking our engagement.
Yellow, the paper simply folded and tucked into the doorframe: Um, I’m a little scared to tell you this in person, but I knew I had to be brave enough to say it.
Jim knocked on the door. “Katharine? May I come in?”
No answer.
He tried twice more before abandoning his manners and cracking the door open.
No one was there. God, he hoped she hadn’t done something stupid like jump out the window. Strangely, there was no sign of any bags, or anything of hers.
Another note waited for him on the pristine bed. A plain white piece of paper.
He picked this one up and crossed his fingers for no final surprises.
If you’re done being growly, I’m waiting in the kitchen.
He considered dancing a jig, right there and then. The whole mess could be straightened out in a few minutes. He’d pop his ex-fiancée on a plane, rushing her home to her sweetheart with his blessing, then be back on the hunt for Lillie before he’d had a coffee.
On second thought, he might stay for an hour or two—look around the house and meet the staff. Let them know he intended to return soon with his real partner.
You could make it back to Vegas in time to join Damon. You could still do the road race, his ambition enticed.
Fat fucking chance of that.
Lady Luck means nothing to me. Shut up, and let me concentrate.
He didn’t need the coin anymore—he needed his copper-headed goddess with the willing laugh and bright smile who’d beguiled his heart.
Jim tucked the final note with the others in his hand, and headed to the kitchen to tell his fiancée goodbye.
She’d been sitting on pins and needles for the last eight hours, and she was tired and worried. The day had been one nightmare on her nerves after another. First she’d had to screw up her courage to face the airport, sweet-talk her way past the private-plane attendants, and then stew for the entire four-hour flight from Vegas to Whitehorse as she practiced turning down her future husband.
And then the bastard didn’t have the decency to be home when she got there. Instead, she’d gotten extra time to fuss and worry herself into a tizzy. Only the memory of Jim’s touch and the look of tenderness in his eyes gave her the courage to keep going forward.
The house she’d been brought to was incredible, but Lillie couldn’t feel sad at turning down marriage to the man who owned such a fabulous retreat. She could have happily lived there—more comfortable than in busy Vegas—but it was the man she wanted, not the setting.
Whoever had said location, location, location hadn’t been talking about the heart.