Remembered by Tamera Alexander

hair. Her belt was cinched modestly tight, preventing any gapping in the fabric, yet her care at swaddling herself so only served to accentuate the curve of her small waist and slender hips. Recognizing the drift in his focus, Jack pulled his attention back and was pleased to actually find her looking at him. Whatever this young woman lacked in height, she made up for in every other way.
    She was completely stunning—and much too young for him.
    He took a step back. Being thirty-eight years old hardly meant he had one foot in the grave, but he would place her age around twenty years his junior, and that was too big of a difference in his book. No matter what the opinions or practices of others might be. Anyway, he’d been looking forward to lightening his load these days, to being responsible only for himself. Isn’t that what he’d told Pastor Carlson? Suddenly those words had a hollow ring to them.
    “Well, thank you again, ma’am. I sincerely appreciate your honesty.” And I hope our paths cross again sometime is what he wanted to add, but didn’t. Still, something told him the chances of that happening were good.
    Jack walked back down the hallway, fully aware that she hadn’t yet shut her door. Once he heard the click of the latch behind him, he retraced his steps, pulled out his own key, and entered the room directly across from hers.

CHAPTER | SEVEN
    W HEN V ÉRONIQUE DESCENDED the stairs to the hotel lobby an hour later, business appeared to be brisk for a Friday morning. At the front desk, Monsieur Baird assisted a couple with two small children while four other gentlemen waited off to the side.
    The men didn’t resemble the kind of patrons Véronique had seen staying at the hotel. They had the appearance of hired hands, only slightly rougher around the edges, and the way they looked at her sent prickles of warning skittering up her arms and neck. Perhaps Monsieur Baird had engaged their services for a specific task at the hotel. If so, he would be well advised to instruct his workmen to use the back entrance next time.
    As she crossed the lobby, one of the men bolted forward, blocking her path.
    “Miss Girard, isn’t it?” Butchering her name, he thrust out his hand, breaking all étiquette in the process.
    Caught off guard, Véronique backed up a step. The man addressing her was tall, with a thick build, and had obviously consumed a breakfast entrée which included onions as a main ingredient. How did he know who she was? She stared pointedly at his hand until he returned it to his side.
    “I’m here to speak with you, ma’am.” He cast a glance at the three men behind him. “And I’d like to make it known that I was first in line.”
    First in line? Véronique didn’t know what he was referring to, but she was relatively certain that whatever it was, it could not be of lesser priority to her.
    The other men suddenly stepped forward to form a half circle around her, all speaking at once.
    “Miss Girard! A word with you, please.” Monsieur Baird’s voice boomed over them all.
    Véronique skirted around the wall of men to see the proprietor striding toward her. He wore a severe expression, and she got the distinct impression he was unhappy with her.
    “May we speak in the dining room, Miss Girard?”
    Grateful for his timely rescue, she glanced at the clock on the front desk. Jake Sampson would be expecting her at the livery any time now.
    “This won’t take long, I promise,” Monsieur Baird added as though reading her mind, his clipped tone persuasive. He indicated for her to follow him.
    Once inside the dining room, he closed the double doors behind them. Monsieur Baird acknowledged the patrons occupying several of the tables, then guided Véronique farther to the back. “Miss Girard . . .” His voice was hushed. “Those men in there are answering the notice you posted yesterday.”
    Véronique shook her head. “That can’t be. . . .” She glanced back at the closed doors, able to