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about the renovations, you'll have to take the place as you find it."
    He opened his mouth to retort that he hadn't received any information or warning at all, but she went on before he could speak.
    "All meals will be served in the dining room down the hall there, and if you aren't on time, you're out of luck. No room service. The heat works, except when it doesn't, and you might have hot water for a shower, except when you won't. The only telephone is on the desk down here. The work crew has the undisputed right of way in this house for the duration, so if they say move, do it. Any questions?"
    Ryder stared down at her. She stood squarely before him, hands on her hips, so belligerent that he found himself torn between amusement and exasperation.
    "Yeah," he drawled finally. "Who the hell are you?"
    Stiffly she said, "Amanda Trask. I'm managing the place until the renovations are complete."
    "Am I allowed another question?" he asked politely.
    Even more stiffly she said, "Ask away."
    "Did the competition send you in here undercover to sabotage this place?" For a brief instant he thought she was going to laugh, but the gleam in her eye vanished quickly.
    "No. I'm being honest, Mr. Foxx. I assume that's who you are."
    "That's who I am," he admitted dryly.
    "Fine. I just want you to know that if you expect to get first-class treatment here, come back next summer. "
    Ryder thought of a possibly very important and lucrative business deal, but that wasn't what decided him. He shrugged. "Understood. Where do I register?"
    "This way," she said, turning toward the high counter near the stairs.
    He followed her, and waited until she was behind
the counter before saying gently, "You're welcome ,
by the way."        ,
    She looked at him for a moment, baffled, and then flushed slightly. "Thanks," she said somewhat ungraciously.
    "I was just being heroic," he said in a modest tone.
    Her uncomfortable look vanished as the glare returned. "It was your fault that I fell anyway," she said.
    "I've already explained that, Miss Trask. Or may I call you Amanda?"
    She opened an old-fashioned leather-bound register, and thrust it across the counter at him. "I'd rather you didn't. Sign."
    "Yes, ma'am," he said, and signed.
    "You'll have to carry your own bags," she added in a very sweet and polite tone. "No bellmen, I'm afraid. Your room's on the third floor; turn right at the top of the stairs, end of the hall. Number 304."
    "You've been so kind," he said, closely matching her tone. She didn't unbend, but he was sure he saw her lips twitch.
    "I'm afraid you've missed lunch," she told him with the same spurious apology. "Supper's at seven."
    Ryder went to get his two bags where he'd dropped them at the door, then walked to the stairs. Hesitating at the bottom, he looked across at her. "Black tie?" he inquired gently.
    "Come as you are," she replied in the same tone.
    "But company manners, surely?"
    "Do you have any?"
    "I was about to ask you the same thing," he said.
    She widened her eyes at him, mildly surprised. "Why, Mr. Foxx, I'm wearing my company manners now."
    He bit back a laugh, keeping his expression one of polite inquiry. "Are you sure you weren't hired by the competition to drive guests away from the Broken R?"
    Leaning an elbow on the desk, she contemplated him with a total lack of expression. "I'm sure. But if you find your bed short-sheeted, please remember that we have only one maid, and she's very young. Inexperienced."
    "111 keep that in mind, Miss Trask. Anything else you want to warn me about?"
    "No, I don't think so. Just watch where you walk. I'd hate for you to put your foot through a rotten board or trip over something. The last thing the Broken R needs right now is a lawsuit."
    Ryder contented himself with a nod and climbed the stairs, deciding that the honors had gone to Miss Amanda Trask in the first round. He had no idea why her attitude toward him was so bristly, but he intended to find out. Of course, she might