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and blustery Walter. “We’ll have to do that one of these nights.” She smiled and crossed her fingers inside the robe’s deep pockets. “But for now, I’ve got a busy day planned.” Potentially.
    “Then we’ll leave you to get dressed.” Mary Grace moved toward the door. The others reluctantly followed.
    “Just remember,” Walter said, “you’re welcome to join the Cocktail Shakers anytime.”
    “We’re the fun bunch,” Harrie put in. “Always a good time.”
    “Tonight’s Margarita Madness,” crowed the Panama hat man, using a bad Latin accent. “Five o’clock, under the umbrellas by the pool. We’re clearing out the Sharks if we have to attack with water guns.”
    Walter backed out, hands cupped around an invisible martini shaker at shoulder level. He gave it a vigorous shake. “We do a different cocktail every evening. You’d be a fine addition to our merry band, Miss Potter.”
    Alice nodded. “Thanks, Mr. St. Gregory. I appreciate the invitation. I promise to stop by eventually. I’m here for two weeks.”
    “Call us Wally and Mags.”
    “Reg and M.G.,” called Panama hat from the breezeway, his arm around Mary Grace.
    “And don’t forget Harrie!”
    “As if I could.” Alice laughed and waved and shut the door. She stared wide-eyed at the empty room before letting out her breath.
    Okay, so maybe there wouldn’t be a lot of glamourand adventure to her vacation. Maybe, even after all her resolutions, she’d end up doing crossword puzzles and drinking strange cocktails by the pool. She was still determined to enjoy herself.
    Don’t surrender yet. According to the brochures, the resort offered horseback riding, off-road biking and hiking, desert-jeep tours. Even skydiving.
    Staying on the ground seemed like a good idea for now. She’d already made one big leap of faith.
     
    “H OWDY, THERE , ma’am. Now ain’t yew a fine filly?” The stablehand pushed a battered straw Stetson to the back of his head. “Y’lookin’ for a bronc?”
    Number fifteen. Alice ran her palms down her jeans before extending a hand. Meet a cowboy. At this rate, she’d have to come up with a new list before the first week was out.
    “I’m Alice Potter. Chloe sent me.”
    “You mean that sweet li’l gal with the blond ponytail?” Plastering a wide grin across his tanned face, the man shook her hand. He was straight from central casting: handsome weathered face, golden-brown lock tumbled across his forehead, clear green eyes, shoulders as broad as his cowpoke accent. A white tank and low-riding jeans clung to his lean hard body. His boots were pointy-toed and emerald green. Bought to match his eyes, she’d just bet.
    Alice nodded. “Chloe said you would set me up with a lesson or two. I’ve already signed on for a trail ride, but I’d like to learn a few techniques first so I know what I’m doing. I’m a beginner.”
    The cowboy slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her an encouraging hug. “Don’tcha worry none, li’llady. I’ll have you gallopin’ ’cross the desert in two shakes of a rattler’s tail.”
    That startled her—how did he know she dreamed of galloping across the desert? Did everyone have the same secret desire? She tried to squirm away. The cowboy smelled of leather, cologne and pungent sweat. The proximity of so much male made her stomach swirl. She stepped out from under his arm and looked into a stall, pretending an interest in the four-legged occupant. The stable was quiet and dark. At the other end of the building, a lone female stablehand shoveled out one of the stalls, pitching forkfuls into a wheelbarrow.
    “That there bay’s name is Loco,” said the cowboy. “Y’think you’d like to climb aboard?”
    An extremely large brown horse stuck its black nose against the upper rails of the stall, nostrils flaring as he snorted the way Alice imagined a charging bull might. “Heck, no.”
    The cowboy slid open the stall door. The horse swung around to greet him,