“Okay,” she said. Despite the mane of curly, wind-tossed hair, the beard stubble, and beat-up leather jacket, he seemed a rather decent sort. Quiet, mannerly. Then there was the wad of bills and salon-maintained hands. And the fact that she still hadn’t seen his eyes yet. Eyes said a lot about a person. She tried to pull her thoughts together. After sliding the bills into the cash drawer under the counter, she stepped out from behind the desk. “Let me show you to your room.”

He glanced at the key. “Number seven?” Then his lips curled briefly and he muttered something like “Lucky seven,” under his breath.

“Yes, top floor, back corner, nice view down the valley and the front range from your window.”

He curled the key into his palm and shifted his gear bag up farther on his shoulder. “I’m sure it will be fine. Thanks.” He gave her a nod, then started up the stairs.

She watched as he turned at the first landing and kept climbing, his heavy tread on the steps at odds with his otherwise quiet demeanor. She briefly thought that perhaps she should follow him up for security reasons, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have ample time to explore the place, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. There were cameras installed discreetly in the top corner molding at the ends of each hallway, but they weren’t hooked up to anything yet. The guests didn’t have to know that, however.

As soon as she heard the creaking floorboards up overhead, she slid the paper from the copier and turned it over. “Brett Hennessey,” she read, then skimmed the rest of the information. He was from Las Vegas. And, noting he’d just turned thirty right before the holidays, he was ten years younger than she was. She smiled at herself and all her fluttery little hormones. So he was a little older than she’d thought, but the only other surprise was that he hadn’t ma’am’d her. If he’d noticed her reaction to him at all, he’d probably thought she was having a hot flash.