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yet to say anything, slid over to make room, but he squeezed in next to Chloe. His scent—manly soap and spicy cologne—went to her head, nearly causing her to sigh like a swooning teen. The mere brush of his arm prompted breathless desire. Once again, his touch unnerved her. Normally sociable, charming even, she could feel herself morphing into the tongue-tied airhead who’d scrambled for his pork ’n’ beans.
    “You ran off before I got your name.”
    “You were on the phone and I, well, I…”
    “You two have met?” This from Monica, who was still wide eyed and looking as flummoxed as Chloe felt.
    “Not officially,” he said.
    “Oslow’s,” she said. “We were shopping and I, well, there was an incident.”
    “Which resulted in me buying fruit, then coming here for a meal consisting of all food four groups.”
    Was he teasing? Scolding? Flirting? She couldn’t tell. It wasn’t like before. He was … guarded. “I’m sorry I blurted that bit about the four basics. As if you don’t know how to take care of yourself. You’re a grown man. Obviously.” Shoot me now!
    “And you’re…?”
    Hot to jump your bones?
    “Chloe Madison,” Monica said, filling the awkward pause. “Chloe, this is Devlin Monroe.”

 
    FIVE
    Rocky Monroe kicked off her morning like every morning, with a glass of OJ and a four-mile run along Pikeman’s Trail. The only difference was she was at it earlier than usual. By the time she got back to the Red Clover Bed-and-Breakfast—her home and place of business—the sun was just breaking over Thrush Mountain.
    Lately, she’d been having trouble sleeping. Too much on her mind. Even though she tried to play down the increasing frequency of Gram’s incidents, Rocky was truly worried about the woman who was too stubborn for her own good. Then again, most of the Monroes had a stubborn streak a mile wide, so Rocky shouldn’t have been surprised by Gram’s dogged determination to carry on as though she were twenty-five instead of seventy-five. Not that seventy-five was ancient, especially in this day and age, but she’d grown forgetful and accident prone and, God help them all, more adventurous.
    She’d nearly turned Rocky’s blond hair white when she’d “borrowed” her snowmobile last winter to take a joyride. Considering the damage to the Arctic Cat, it was a miracle Gram had walked away with no more than a broken wrist and unsightly bruises. Then there were the cooking-related accidents. Last month while hosting a meeting of Cupcake Lovers, Gram had put a teakettle on the burner and turned the gas flame full up, which wouldn’t have been so bad except she forgot to put water in the kettle. There’d been a small fire, which Rocky and her cousin Sam had easily extinguished, but what if Gram had been alone?
    That’s why Rocky had been immensely relieved to hear Gram had hired a companion. That alone should’ve helped Rocky sleep easier last night, except she was also obsessing on her broken oven. She’d had to replace the washing machine last month and now her fridge was making funny sounds. Since she normally cooked meals for the B and B visitors, she relied heavily on her appliances. Not that she had anyone to cook for today or for the next two weeks. The Red Clover had been experiencing unusually sporadic bookings for months now. Her savings account was taking a hit at a time when she really needed to overhaul the nineteenth-century five-bedroom house to attract more business. All she had to do was ask Dev and he’d cover the expenses. Or … he’d suggest she sell. He’d been against her buying the Red Clover in the first place, calling it a money pit, but Rocky had had her eye on this inn and the attached several acres since she was a kid. She’d be damned if she’d let her big brother, or anyone else for that matter, dictate her life.
    By the time Rocky showered and dressed, she’d worked up the stress she’d worked off with the run. She needed to get