Over the years, other men had declared their devotion, but she had turned away every suitor - without a single twinge of regret. Morgan was different. She didn't want to be courted, and yet she couldn't bear the thought of not being with him. She didn't want a serious suitor, had no desire to wed, and yet the idea that he might turn to another woman nearly broke her heart.

A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways, she reminded herself. And her recent thoughts and emotions certainly must be what the Lord meant when He caused James to write that verse. She was definitely of two minds when it came to Morgan.

"Lord, I need Your peace."

As the horse's hooves fell on the wooden surface of the bridge, Gwen remembered the day she'd first seen Morgan. If she closed her eyes, she could picture him still, the top down on his touring car. How could she have guessed what impact he would have on her life from that moment on? No man had ever made her feel this way before.

Feel what way?

Gwen drew back on the reins, stopping Shakespeare in the middle of the bridge.

Feel what way?

Excited but scared.

Lost and found.

Sad yet happy.

Perplexed.

Befuddled.

Gwen was a person who liked order. She wasn't given to wild flights of fancy. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground.

Well, they used to be.

She slapped the reins against the horse's rump. "Walk on, Shakespeare."

Cleo rested her knuckles on her hips and gave Gwen a hard look. "Gwennie, it's clear as the nose on your face. You're falling in love with him."

Gwen shook her head. "No, it isn't - "

"You may be the pretty one, but I'll be doggone if you aren't the silly one too. Otherwise you'd recognize your feelings and give in to them."

Gwen sank onto one of the feed bins in the barn. "I can't can't be in love." be in love."

"Why not? Land sakes! Falling in love isn't a disease. It's the most natural thing in the world." Cleo leaned against a post and crossed her arms over her chest. "So he told you he cares for you and he kissed you. Didn't you like his kisses?"

"That's beside the point."

"Is it? I may not know much about these things, but I suppose liking a man's kisses must be a good thing if the both of you are falling in love."

"I am not not falling in love." falling in love."

Cleo clucked her tongue. "You trying to convince me or yourself, Gwennie?" She leaned forward. "If you could've seen your face last Sat.u.r.day when McKinley was talking. Land o' Goshen! You were hanging on his every word. Like pearls were dripping from his mouth. And when he said he was going to vote for you come Election Day, there was a second there when I thought you would jump up and give him a hug right there in front of everybody."

"It's not true." Gwen covered her face with her hands. "It's not true, Cleo."

"You know how some say the ostrich down in Africa sticks its head into a bush or the sand. I heard that's just a myth, but it's a good description all the same." She pushed off from the post. "Don't go being an ostrich, Gwennie. My guess is that Morgan is a man among men. One in a million. If he's everything I've observed, you won't have to worry about living under his thumb. My guess is he'll love you so much that pretty soon you'll be thinking he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars in the heavens."

Gwen groaned as she lowered her hands, feeling miserable.

Cleo's expression said she was losing patience fast. "I'd be happier than a fox in the hen house if I was in your shoes. And there you sit, looking like the world's about to end. If you don't beat all." She grunted her disgust. "Maybe the good Lord's got you and me mixed up. I sure wouldn't turn a fine man like Morgan away if he loved me the way Morgan loves you." With that, she spun on her heel and strode out of the barn.

Was Cleo right? Was Gwen falling in love with Morgan?

Oh, it was all so mixed up in her head that she couldn't think straight. And instead of making things better, her visit to the ranch had only made things worse. She was more confused than before, and she couldn't remember a time when Cleo had been this angry with her.

If it weren't for that kiss...

Two days later, Roscoe Finch - the gardener and handyman who worked for Morgan - delivered a note to Gwen.

Dear Miss Arlington,I am afraid I will be unable to have my lesson next Tuesday as I have gone to Boise on matters of business and expect to be away from Bethlehem Springs until week's end. I do, however, look forward to receiving my lesson the following week. I trust you are willing to continue to instruct me since I have heard nothing to the contrary.

Your servant, Morgan McKinley "Thank you, Mr. Finch." Gwen looked up from the sheet of paper, composing her expression to reveal none of her conflicting emotions.

"You're welcome, miss. I'm always glad to do whatever Mr. McKinley needs. He's a good soul, giving an old man like me work and a place to live."

"You're not old."

He chuckled. "You're wrong about that. A person can't argue with the pa.s.sing of time, and I don't mean to try. If you're wise, Miss Arlington, you'll take note of it now while you're young. The years, they go by faster and faster, and you don't want to find yourself at my age, looking back and wishing you'd done things you hadn't or wishing you'd gone places you didn't. You only get one time around on this here earth. You gotta make the most of life while you can."

She acquiesced with a nod.

Roscoe tipped the brim of his hat in her direction. "Well, good day to you, Miss Arlington. I'd best be about my work."

"Good day to you, Mr. Finch." She watched him as he moved toward the gate, a slight limp in his walk.

Loneliness tugged at Gwen's heart as her gaze dropped once more to the note in her hand. She wouldn't see Morgan for another whole week. It already felt like a lifetime.

She groaned at the thought. Only yesterday she'd been determined to tell Morgan she could no longer be his piano teacher. Only yesterday she'd been convinced that putting him from her mind was the best thing to do - for both of them.

Only she couldn't do it. She realized that now. She wanted to see him. If only for half an hour once a week, she wanted to be with him. Because despite all her denials and words to the contrary, she cared for him.

Cleo was right about her. She was a fool with her head stuck in the sand.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

Morgan was strolling back to his hotel after a late lunch with William Rudyard at the senator's private club when a female voice stopped him.

"Morgan! Morgan McKinley!"

He turned around.

A young woman with dark hair and eyes hurried toward him, smiling broadly. Who on earth? Was it - ? No, it couldn't be.

"Daphne?" he said aloud.

His sister looked the same as she had following their mother's funeral, and yet she was different too. More of a woman than the girl she'd been. Was it the way she carried herself or the clothes she wore or something else?

Daphne stopped in front of him, rose on tiptoe, and brushed his left cheek with her lips. "Yes, Morgan. Of course it's me. What are you doing in Boise? You are the last person I expected to see here."

Before he could answer, someone joined them on the sidewalk, and Morgan lifted his gaze to see who it was.

His sister looked behind her at the young man. "Morgan, this is my friend Robert Dudley. The one I wrote you about. Bob, this is my brother, Morgan."

Robert doffed his hat. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McKinley."

"Likewise."

"Daphne has told me a great deal about you, sir."

"Has she indeed." He looked at his sister. "I'd like to hear that myself. I trust it was entertaining."

Daphne laughed, then asked, "Where are you staying?"

"At the Idanha Hotel."

"That's where Bob and I have taken rooms as well. Are you going there now?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall walk with you, if that's all right."

"Of course it's all right." He offered his arm, and she took hold of it.

Robert fell in behind them on the sidewalk.

"You received my letter?" Daphne asked as they walked. "The one telling you I was coming?"

"Yes, I received it, but I didn't expect you until next week. I thought you were stopping to see the sights. Have you enjoyed your trip west?"

"It's been delightful, although we didn't make as many stops as I'd hoped we would. Bob is anxious to reach California so he hurried us along. He wants to be rid of his obligation to me and be about the business of becoming a well-known figure on the motion picture screen."

"Don't believe her, M r. Mc Kinley," Robert interjected . "Daphne was the one in a hurry. She was eager to see you."

The idea pleased Morgan - that his sister wanted to be with him. He thought again of Gwen and Cleo, of how close they were despite the many years of separation. Pray G.o.d the same would happen between the McKinley siblings.

He patted the back of Daphne's hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. "I'm glad you've come. It's been too long since we were together."

"I feel the same. And to be honest, I was weary of traveling around Europe and just as weary of staying put with Cousin Gertrude. She is a dear woman, truly she is, but I no longer need to be chaperoned as if I were a child. And the way she tries to keep men away from me." Daphne rolled her eyes. "It's positively medieval."

Morgan nodded but made no comment. He knew Gertrude Anderson, an unmarried woman in her forties, had meant to protect the young McKinley heiress from fortune hunters. In fact, that was one of the things he'd charged her with doing when he'd asked her to be Daphne's chaperone. But his sister needn't know that.

"Morgan, you haven't told me why you're in Boise. I know you didn't come to meet me."

"I'm here on business for New Hope. I've got a meeting with men from the railroad later in the week, and in the meantime, I'm hiring more workers and placing orders for materials and furnishings."

"I cannot wait to see what you've accomplished. For that matter, I cannot wait to see where you have settled. Who knows? Maybe I'll decide to stay in Bethlehem Springs too."

Harrison rode his horse down the incline to the water's edge. About a quarter mile north of the wall of trees on the opposite side of Crow's Creek were the pools and the bathhouse of the New Hope Health Spa. Elias Spade had promised him this was the best way to enter the grounds undetected. Maybe the only way, due to the guards now patrolling the area.

It was a risk, of course, for him to be here in the middle of the day, but he'd wanted to see for himself what Spade intended. A stick or two of dynamite, Spade had told him, was all it would take to destroy that section of the resort compound. A spa without pools and bathhouse was no spa at all. Without them, the resort couldn't open. And maybe that would be the final straw for McKinley Gwen's article for the Daily Herald Daily Herald was due the next day, and she hadn't managed even one sentence. She'd found a dozen other things to do besides write, including baking a cake and two pies and scouring her kitchen. The cake and one of the pies had been taken to the Goldsmiths. She would most likely eat the second pie herself. Every bite of it, unless she threw off this funk. was due the next day, and she hadn't managed even one sentence. She'd found a dozen other things to do besides write, including baking a cake and two pies and scouring her kitchen. The cake and one of the pies had been taken to the Goldsmiths. She would most likely eat the second pie herself. Every bite of it, unless she threw off this funk.

That was one reason she was now in her buggy, Shakespeare trotting along the road heading north. She hoped the fresh air would rid her of her bad humor and save her from that pie. Her other reason - the more important one - was to see if an idea that had come to her that morning might provide not only tomorrow's piece for the paper but a series of them. She wanted to write articles about some of the men who were building the spa. One article about a carpenter. Another about a stonemason. One about Mr. Doyle, the site overseer. Another about... the owner.

Summoned by her thoughts, Morgan's words repeated in her head as they had done often over the past week. "Isn't it obvious? I have come to care for you. To deeply care for you." "Isn't it obvious? I have come to care for you. To deeply care for you." Would he say those words to her again if he were given the chance? Or would he withdraw them for good because of her rejection. Would he say those words to her again if he were given the chance? Or would he withdraw them for good because of her rejection.

Sounds floated to her through the forest - hammers striking nails and wood, men shouting to one another. She was nearing the building site.

Just as Shakespeare was about to pull the buggy around a bend in the road, Gwen caught sight of a man on horseback down at the creek's edge. She drew back on the reins. If that was f.a.gan Doyle - But it wasn't the site overseer. She could see the man's face now as his horse picked its way across the shallow water. It was Harrison Carter. What was he doing down there?

Harrison looked up, saw her, and reined in, stopping his horse in midstream. After a brief hesitation, he waved to her. "Miss Arlington. Wait there, will you?"

It wasn't a difficult ride from the creek up to the road, and yet Gwen thought Harrison Carter looked as if he'd traveled a mile uphill. There was a sheen of perspiration across his forehead and upper lip, and when his gaze met hers, it skittered away at once. Almost as if he were unnerved by her presence. Which made no sense to her. Harrison Carter was not not the nervous type, and especially not around women. the nervous type, and especially not around women.

"Visiting the resort site?" he asked, glancing toward the bend in the road.

"Yes." She could have told him about her idea for the articles. She chose not to.

"Has Mr. McKinley returned?"

"No, I don't believe that he has."

He looked at her again, then down the road toward town. "Too bad. I wanted to speak with him about some concerns the board has regarding the effect the spa will have on Crow's Creek. Once it joins the river a few miles south of here, it will become our problem."

Gwen almost asked him what those concerns were, but a check in her spirit stopped her from voicing the question aloud. Something told her Harrison was being less than honest.

"Maybe you know when he's to return, Miss Arlington."

"I'm sorry. I don't know for certain."

"He didn't tell you?"

She stiffened. What business was it of his what Morgan said to her? "I didn't see him before he left." True - and she felt no compunction to tell him there had been a note. "You must excuse me, Mr. Carter. I've an article to write and too little time to do it in." She slapped the reins against Shakespeare's rump, and the buggy moved forward, around the bend, and out of Harrison's sight.

Disagreeable man.

Unless the voters of Bethlehem Springs voted for Morgan despite his endors.e.m.e.nt of Gwen, she would be the newly elected mayor in a few weeks. She would have to work with Harrison Carter on matters that concerned both town and county. That wasn't a pleasant thought. The longer she knew him, the less she liked him.

The road curved to the right again, then to the left, and once more to the right. The final turn brought the New Hope lodge into view. She imagined herself as a guest arriving for the first time. Surely it would make a guest's heart leap when he or she saw that magnificent building. She was no judge of health spas, having never visited one, but she had to believe this would be as grand as any other.