LITMIR.BIZ

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boundless enthusiasm can be a pain.”

      Her heart jolted, recalling the tone of Paulette’s scathing indictment. You can’t come bounding in here with your typical puppy-dog enthusiasm, straining a working relationship with Mom and Dad’s new manager.

      She glanced at Rob. Was that how he viewed her, too?

      But it appeared he wasn’t paying any attention to her whatsoever as they ascended the railroad tie steps to the cabin. Joining him on the porch, she turned to gaze out at the breathtaking view, glimpsing a distant low mountain between a gap in the thick stand of pines.

      “I’ve always loved this cabin.” Opening her arms wide as if to embrace the property, she inhaled the scent of sun-warmed pine. Then immediately dropped her arms to her sides, self-conscious of appearing too enthusiastic.

      Rob’s brow lowered. “I suppose you grew up here. On the Singing Rock property as a whole, I mean.”

      You can knock off with the frowning, thank you.

      “You suppose right.”

      Forehead puckered, he pocketed his sunglasses and cocked his head. “Has it changed much through the years?”

      Pinned by his gaze, she floundered for an analysis worthy of his now-interested attention.

      “Changed? Yes and no.”

      Kinda like you, Robby.

       Chapter Three

      He folded his arms, skepticism in his tone. “Yes and no?”

      “Mom and Dad expanded it through the years.” She loved extolling all they’d done to make Singing Rock what it was today. “They built on what Grandma and Grandpa—Mom’s parents—started out with. Added cabins. The lodge. But basically, it’s the same in essence as it always has been. Guests have come to expect that.”

      “You think so?”

      Why was he challenging her? Acting like he didn’t know what she was talking about?

      “Sure. Singing Rock’s been around for sixty-some years. There are even people who’ve been coming here every summer for five decades of those.”

      “The Millards, right? Your folks mentioned they celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary at the lodge last year.”

      “See what I mean? Singing Rock’s a family tradition.” She caught his furrowed frown and laughed. “You doubt that?”

      “What’s Singing Rock doing to attract the Millards’ grandkids? Great-grandkids?”

      Pride swelled. “Exactly what we’ve always done. Opening our hearts—and our cabins—to share genuine high country hospitality.”

      Rob braced an arm on a porch support post. “Don’t get me wrong. I understand and appreciate that sentiment. But unfortunately, that doesn’t cut it in today’s market. A lot of people are looking to have their days scheduled with diverse activities. Add to that a growing desire for more amenities. Conveniences. Luxuries even.”

      “Like cable TV and free internet access? A gourmet coffee shop on site?” She shook her head. It looked like she had a lot to do yet to educate Rob. “Mom and Dad pride themselves on limiting the influence of that kind of thing. They believe you should be your own entertainment.”

      “But those kinds of people aren’t keeping the cabins full, now are they?”

      Why was he being so obstinate?

      “Maybe not in this economic slump. But that’s the whole reason people come to Singing Rock.” She motioned toward the captivating view from the porch. “They’d rather commune with God and nature than sit in front of an electronic screen of some variety. They want to get themselves and their kids away from all-consuming technology and flee the stuff that causes them stress on a daily basis. The place that delivers on that promise is Singing Rock.”

      Rob tilted his head. “A good cup of coffee causes stress?”

      “A good cup of coffee doesn’t have to cost five or six bucks a pop. That does cause stress.” She studied him a long moment, an uneasiness floating around the edges of her mind. She folded her arms. “You’re not thinking of trying to talk my folks into that kind of junk are you? I can tell you right now it won’t fly.”

      “Coffee shop? No way. But it’s your parents who asked me to evaluate how Singing Rock can be brought into the twenty-first century. As I’m sure you’re already aware, business sagged notably the past few years.”

      “That’s due to a general dip in the economy.” Or had Mom and Dad suffered a financial blow? Was that what Paulette meant when she referred to the future of Singing Rock being on the line? “Everyone’s taking a hit, right?”

      “The Evergreen property up the road is holding its own, staying filled. Each unit has internet, wide-screen TV. They offer a pool, tennis court, exercise room, buffet breakfast—”

      With a laugh she held up a restraining hand. “Wait, wait, wait. Kyle Marsh’s place? Are you kidding me? That condo kingdom that comes complete with cute garages so the sports cars won’t get coated with pine pollen or spotted with sticky ponderosa sap? You can’t compare our place to his.”

      “Why not? He’s the competition.”

      She placed her hands on her hips, but kept her smile steady. “No, he’s not. Kyle wouldn’t know a trout from a goldfish. A canoe from a surfboard. And his upscale clientele couldn’t care less about that type of thing, either. That’s not the crowd Singing Rock caters to.”

      “Maybe not currently, but—”

      “There are already enough places to accommodate that other demographic. The heart of the high country is in the outdoors—fishing, hiking, stargazing. Sing-a-alongs and marshmallow roasts around a campfire.”

      She shook her head, struggling not to laugh again. “Look, Rob, I assure you, Kyle’s place isn’t what Mom and Dad were alluding to when they asked you for recommendations. They’ll expect estimates on a redo of the sand volleyball lot, digging new fire pits, re-rocking the parking areas or replacing worn-out porch furniture. Do you have any idea what internal turmoil they went through before deciding it would be acceptable to put microwaves in the cabins? To build a website?”

      He frowned. Again.

      “So,” she said, before he could sing more praises of neighboring Evergreen. Her folks would faint dead away. “Should we take a look at this piece of artwork you called about?”

      His mouth set in a grim line, Rob pushed open the glass-paned wooden door and motioned her inside. The faint, comforting scent of wood smoke and cinnamon greeted them as they stepped onto the hardwood floors of the shadowed interior. It took a moment for her daylight-accustomed eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings. But there was no mistaking the colorful scrawl across the cream-colored wall inside the entryway.

      “NO MORE,” it proclaimed in three-foot-high letters.

      “No more what?” While concerned about the defacement of the charming space and the effort it would take to remedy the perpetrator’s handiwork, a rush of relief flooded her. “I thought you said my name figured into this.”

      Rob came from behind and gripped her shoulders, turning her to the left. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

      DIAZ. With a bright crimson slash through it.

      “That may be my last name,” she protested with a shot of apprehension as Rob released her. “But this doesn’t have anything to do with me. Did you call the deputy again?”

      Rob stepped back, gazing at the wall with a critical eye. “Not yet.”

      “But you’re going to, right?”

      He rubbed a hand along the

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