Remember to Forget by Deborah Raney

through the doorway, a smile on his face. One look at her in Wren’s nightgown, and he quickly averted his eyes, his smile following suit.
    The gown covered more than most of her shorts outfits did, but she suddenly felt exposed. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you know where Wren is? Or her husband?”
    He doffed his cap, revealing neatly clipped hair the color of sand. Thick-lashed blue eyes met hers briefly before he focused on the doorjamb, running his hand along the painted wood. “Wren went for a few groceries. Should be back any time now. I don’t know where Bart is.”
    “Oh. Okay. Wren did my laundry last night. I was wondering where my clothes were.”
    He cleared his throat, still inspecting the intricacies of the arched doorway. “Yeah. She told me.”
    “She did?” What kind of place left the carpenters in charge and filled the guy in on all the details of a guest’s situation?
    He nodded and chanced a look back, his gaze not straying below her face. “I don’t know where your clothes are, but the laundry room would be a pretty good first guess.” He gave her a crooked smile and headed back into the dining room.
    Maggie followed him, hugging her arms tighter around her midsection. The fragrance of coffee and cinnamon mingled with the scents of pine and sawdust. Silvery motes danced on the rays of sunlight that spilled through the windows. “Excuse me, but . . . the laundry room? Where would that be?”
    He tugged his cap back on, picked up a ladder, and moved it a few feet. When he set it down, a pathetic yowl split the air, and a huge cat shot across the room and out into the lobby. Maggie’s heart swelled. The striped tabby was an oversized version of her Buttons back in New York.
    “Fool cat,” the carpenter muttered under his breath.
    Maggie started after the animal. “What’s her name?”
    “It’s a he, and his name is Jasper.”
    She found the cat in the lobby, huddled beneath a low bench by the front door. “Come here, Jasper. Here, kitty.”
    The cat sniffed her outstretched hand, and after a minute, crept out, keeping low to the ground. Maggie scooped him into her arms. He outweighed Buttons by a good five pounds, but holding him made her ache for Buttons something fierce. She rubbed her face against his soft fur.
    The carpenter shouted something over an eruption of hammering.
    She walked over to the doorway. “Were you talking to me?”
    He looked up, hammer midswing. “I said the laundry room is behind the check-in desk.” He indicated with a nod. “First door on the right.”
    “Oh, thanks.” She’d almost forgotten why she came out here.She let the cat down with one last, longing stroke and went to the door he’d indicated. Feeling like an intruder, she knocked softly, then pushed the door open. Sure enough, neatly folded on the edge of one of two washing machines were her khaki slacks and the rest of her things. The woman had even managed to get the grass stains out of her white blouse.
    She grabbed the stack of clothes and headed for her room. It would be almost three by the time she got dressed and out of here. At least if Wren wasn’t here, she might be able to leave before they charged her for an extra night. A ghost of guilt hung over that last thought, but she pushed it away, knowing she needed to stretch her cash.
    She sat on the bed and let her eyes wander over the furnishings. She’d been too tired to notice last night, but it was a pretty room. The sun streamed through pale wooden venetian blinds and lay in thick slices across the blue and white quilt. The dresser and a little table and chairs in the corner by the windows were painted white, and the walls were covered with a cheery blue and white toile print.
    She gazed with longing toward the bathroom. The thought of another long soak in that tub was enticing. Shaking off the thought, she slipped into her clean clothes, then scooped up the money from the dresser, counting it twice.
    She started