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practicality from her father, enough to take care of him and anyone else who needed it.
    â€œAny hot water left?” Suzy was in the room when Maggie got back from her shower.
    â€œGobs. Look, I need you to do me a favor.” And so she explained about Mary Rose and why she was really here.
    â€œGeez, I don’t know, Riley.” Leaning back on her elbows, Suzy admired her colorful toenails. “I sort of had my eye on the cowboy. Besides, Perry spent most of his time with that lady with the buzz cut and the three-carat diamond.”
    â€œGeorgia, I think her name is.” Maggie sat on the room’s only chair, which lacked a back and could more properly be termed a stool. She toweled her hair. “The cowboy will wait. All I need is one good example of Perry reeling out the same old line he used on Mary Rose, and I’ll have him dead to rights.”
    â€œWould she believe you?”
    â€œIf I could get it on tape, it would be even better.” Maggie waited hopefully for Suzy to offer her body to be wired. When no such offer was forthcoming,she shrugged and said, “She knows I never lie…unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
    â€œIf I get the goods on Silver, do I get dibs on the cowboy?”
    â€œUnless he’s married or otherwise out of the running, he’s all yours,” Maggie said magnanimously, as if it were up to her. If she had anything to say about it, she might not be so generous.
    â€œHe’s not wearing a ring.” Suzy went through a few lethargic yoga movements. “There’s my day’s exercise. I’m a firm believer in moderation in all things.”
    Maggie continued to towel her hair, her mind on the man who kept popping into her thoughts like a sexy poltergeist. “He’s probably not going to model, since he signed the register like all the rest of us.”
    â€œBesides, if he were a model, he’d be busy trying on jockstraps.”
    â€œPerish the thought,” Maggie said, grinning.
    â€œI don’t want to perish the thought, it’s too tempting.”
    â€œAbout tomorrow—” Maggie was determined not to lose sight of her mission. “We’re all going to have to paint something. How good are you?”
    Suzy shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
    â€œI’ve never even tried to draw anything since I used to do stuff in school, mostly stick figures standing under a rainbow.”
    â€œWhat do you bet we’re not the only amateurs here?”
    â€œUm-hmm…” Maggie was having trouble picturing Ben Hunter as an artist, although she couldn’t have said quite why. Maybe because of his boots. Ormaybe those powerful arms. She’d be willing to bet those strong hands and muscular forearms had done more than wield a paintbrush.
    â€œBut then, hey—if it weren’t for us amateurs, Perry would be out of a job, right?” Suzy said brightly.
    After that, they talked about clothes—whether or not they’d brought the right kind—and boyfriends. Suzy was currently juggling three; Maggie didn’t have time for even one, although she had her eye on a young high school coach.
    By the time the new roommate, Ann Ehringhaus, showed up, Maggie was already yawning. After introductions all around, Suzy pointed out the amenities, such as they were. When Ann sneezed for the third time, Maggie murmured something about allergies. While the other two women talked softly, Maggie fell asleep and dreamed of a Ben Hunter who segued into one of those famous male statues wearing a fig leaf and a strategically draped shawl, with a quiver full of watercolor brushes on his back. He was leering at her.
    Mercy! No wonder she woke up even before the alarm went off with the mother of all headaches.
    Leaving the other two women still sleeping, Maggie dressed quietly and tiptoed into the kitchen, following the beguiling aroma of freshly brewed coffee. When a shaft of