LITMIR.BIZ

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what we were told.”

      Irene appeared, forehead shining with sweat.

      “Hollister, can you help with check-in?” she panted. “There’s a line twenty ladies deep. I don’t know why people can’t come in small batches. Must they all arrive in droves?”

      “Aye, aye, Captain Hershey.” Hollister snapped off a salute and trotted out.

      “I wish I could convince that dolt not to call me captain. I can’t decide if he’s making fun of me or trying to be clever.”

      Cy rounded on her. “What’s going on? I’m supposed to decorate in here. I see balloons and tables when I should be seeing drop cloths and putty knives.”

      “The putty knives will have to wait until after an impromptu cookies-and-punch reception.” She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, man. Kitty can’t get cookies made by two o’clock. I’d better ask that weird scone guy in town...”

      “Nester?” Piper supplied.

      “Yeah. I’ll ask him if he’s got scones left. Five dozen ought to do it. Maybe six.”

      Piper blinked. “But I thought we only had a few guests.”

      “It’s the yellow hat ladies.” Irene spoke with reverence.

      “I saw them earlier,” Piper said. “Are they a club or something?”

      “A local chapter of a national group that calls themselves the River Belles. Their mission is to travel on every paddle wheel riverboat in the US.”

      “But this boat doesn’t go anywhere. It stays in the harbor,” Piper pointed out.

      “I’m aware,” Irene sniped. “But that doesn’t seem to matter to the ladies.”

      Cy shifted impatiently. “We’re getting off topic. Putty knives, remember? I’m redecorating and I’ve got a tight deadline.”

      “The head Belle, Miss Maude something or other, booked the River King for a week in November, only she wrote it down as October, so I’ve got thirty-five women in matching hats marching up the gangplanks as we speak.”

      “Can’t you tell them they made a mistake?” Cy asked.

      “That would be inconvenient for them,” Irene said. “And we would lose the booking. Piper, I’m going to need to talk to you about some sort of nightly entertainment.”

      “I can’t just come up with something at the drop of a hat.”

      “You’d better,” Irene said.

      Entertainment? What could Piper offer in the way of entertainment? What did tourists like to do? “I’m an actress, not an event planner.”

      “You can add the job title to your resume. Now get cracking.”

      Piper’s stomach began to sink, but suddenly a perfect idea electrified her. “How about some vaudeville theater classes? Each day we’ll practice a little variety skit, and we can perform it at the dinner hour. Oh! And the ladies can be the opening act for our dress rehearsal on Tuesday night. They’ll experience performing on a real historic stage.”

      “Fine, fine. Just don’t spend any money.” Irene turned to Cy. “The scones-and-punch thing is only for today. We’ll have to provide them breakfast in here each morning, and dinner at six sharp. The rest of the time, they’ll be out and about. We’ll curtain off an area so they don’t see the mess you’re making. As soon as the breakfast dishes are cleared, you can hack away until it’s time to set for dinner, and then you disappear.”

      He blinked. “Are you crazy? I can’t renovate in here in between breakfast and dinner. Painting, sanding, hammering...”

      Irene’s face grew stony. “We’ll bring in fans to air out the paint smell. Feel free to work all night, if you must. You can bunk with Hollister.”

      “You don’t understand,” Cy said. “I can’t do the job under these conditions.”

      “No, you don’t understand,” she growled, cheeks flaming red. “We haven’t had a large group since I bought this tub. Now we’ve got a celebrity concierge waiting to see how this room turns out and a gaggle of ladies hungry for scones, and I’m not turning away a chance to get the River King on her feet. You make it work or you give me the sixteen thousand dollars right now and I hire someone else.”

      He glowered. “Fine. I’ll write you a check.”

      Piper’s stomach plummeted.

      “You do that.” Irene’s tone became threatening. “And I will tell everyone I meet that Dollars and Sense Design walked out on the job.”

      “You wouldn’t.”

      “I’ll post on Yelp.”

      “You’re joking.”

      “Not likely. I don’t have a sense of humor.”

      Piper silently agreed. She held her breath.

      “You’re asking me to do the impossible,” Cy said.

      He spoke quietly, but something in his tone thrilled Piper. She saw a spark in his eyes, a determined uplift to his chin as he mulled it over. Doing the impossible. It appealed to him even though he could not currently see any light at the end.

      What would it be like to believe everything would work out all right? That a person could prevail over any circumstance? The optimism tantalized her. It was silly, of course, a childish view that would only get him hurt.

      Irene fixed Cy with a stare that could have blistered paint off the walls. “If it’s impossible, Mr. Franco, then you’d better get busy.”

      After the door closed behind her, Cy stood still, staring at nothing.

      Piper meant to tie the balloons and tiptoe away, ignoring the tug that seemed to suggest she should help. Help the guy who’d wanted to toss her uncle out? No way. She had things to do. Shows to organize.

      Her sandal caught on a chair leg and she stumbled, letting go of the balloons. They drifted lazily up to the ceiling, well out of reach. She strained to catch them.

      Cy didn’t hesitate. He put his hands around her waist and lifted.

      She felt the press of his cheek into her back, the strong arms spanning her middle as he raised her up. Her heart began to jackhammer. His embrace rocketed her back in time, and she was lost in memories of laughter and love and joy, when she’d briefly believed in the impossible, too.

      There was nothing to be done but snatch the ribbons as quickly as she could. She forced her shaking hands upward, gathering the fluttering strings in her cold fingers. He lowered her slowly to the ground.

      She turned to face him, positive that her face was crimson.

      He was close, so close. Something in his expression made her think the touch had upended emotions inside him, too.

      He opened his mouth to speak, lips sweet and sensual.

      “Here,” she said, thrusting the balloons at him and fleeing from the room.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      HOURS LATER, CY smiled and chatted with the ladies who swarmed the reception room. Though his mouth made conversation, his mind was somewhere else, alternately poring over the details of the room and stewing over his reaction to Piper.

      What had he been thinking? In fact, he hadn’t been. Touching her was pure reflex, and he was startled that his body had reacted without consulting his heart. Piper was not a part of his life, nor would she ever be again.

       Run, remember, Cy?

      He forced his mind back to the impossible

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