A massive, double-sided rock fireplace partially separated the reception area from a large gambling casino. Christie could hear excited voices from the craps tables. White-shirted dealers stood attentively at a number of poker tables while players checked their hands. Red lights whirled on top of slot machines; bells clanged and coins shot into metal trays.
Waitresses in short black skirts plied customers with free drinks in the hope of keeping them gambling. The casino had the look of a mini Las Vegas. The difference was that when you walked out the door, you were met by a magnificent environment. Nothing like this natural beauty of lake and forest existed on the Vegas Strip.
They rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where Cash and Christie had adjoining rooms. Her suite was furnished with a pair of overstuffed love seats positioned to take advantage of a view of the lake peeking through tall ponderosa pines.
They had dinner reservations for seven o’clock at the Lone Eagle Grill. Christie unpacked quickly and freshened up. She shrugged into her jacket and wrapped a knitted scarf around her neck. It had been a long time since lunch and she was famished.
They walked across the road to the restaurant. Christie was impressed with the architecture here, too. In the same style of decor as the hotel, the ceilings rose three stories high, and tall logs emphasized the alpine appearance. Cash told her that it was rumored that the architects had modeled the restaurant after the famous Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park.
The hostess led them to a table near a window. The view of the lake was exquisite. Outdoor lights illuminated the shore, and moonlight flashed and danced across the rippling water.
The meal was excellent. Christie tried to resist dessert, but Cash convinced her to share a chocolate-raspberry mousse. “You have to end dinner with something sweet,” he’d said, and she couldn’t refuse. Afterward they sat in the cocktail lounge by the rugged stone fireplace and sipped after-dinner espressos. Christie could hear a trio singing a country-western song. She couldn’t quite remember the name, but it was a tale of love. She sneaked a look at Cash to see if the words had any effect on him. He smiled and reached for her hand. His touch was gentle, and the light squeeze he gave evoked a feeling of closeness.
The song stopped before the last verse was complete. “I don’t believe it!” A voice interrupted the mood. “Cash McCullough. What have you been up to?”
A tall man, clutching a guitar, walked into the circle of firelight. Cash stood up and enthusiastically shook the man’s hand and clapped him on the back. “Sean Cassidy, it’s good to see you. Are you and your boys playing the festival, or are you just bumming around?”
“Bummin’ around? You’ve hurt my feelings.”
Cash turned to Christie. “Sean and I go way back,” he said. “This is my friend Christie Hamilton.”
Sean leaned over and shook hands with Christie. His grip was firm, his hand callused.
“Glad to meet you, Christie. Cash introduced you as a friend. Hmm, if he doesn’t have more in mind, I’d say he was crazy.”
“You’re putting me on the spot, Sean,” Cash said. “And Christie, too. You don’t want to scare her away, do you?”
“Heavens, no. That would be a terrible thing to do. Hey, Cash, why don’t you join us for a set?” Sean shoved the guitar at him.
“It’s been a long time,” Cash said.
“Come on, it’s like riding a bike. A couple of chords and you’ll be ready to go.” Sean turned to the other musicians. “Boys, meet Cash McCullough. Jason and Thomas.” Sean pointed as he said their names, and each man responded with a nod.
“If I remember correctly, ‘Sugarfoot Rag’ was one of your favorites.”
“You’ve got me, I can’t turn that song down.”
“Jason, you strike the chord,” Sean said.
Cash tapped his foot to the beat of the music, and when the fiddler slid the bow over the violin, Cash and the banjo player strummed hot and fast. At nearby tables customers began clapping in rhythm to the music.
The next song was slower and Sean sang a solo on the first verse, then Cash and the other two men came in on the chorus. Christie could see that Cash was enjoying himself.
“Okay, boys, no more easy stuff. Let’s see where Cash stands on ‘Dueling Banjos!’” Sean said.
“I don’t know, Sean, it’s been a long time since I had that kind of a challenge. I’m afraid my fingers are rusty.”
“No excuses. One, two, three.”
The banjo player hit the first chord, Cash answered with a chord of his own. The tempo increased until it rose to a frenzied crescendo. The room, which had previously buzzed with conversation, become quiet except for the sound of the two musicians. Perspiration beaded on Cash’s forehead. Christie watched his fingers fly across the guitar, saw that the banjo player was just as intense. When they completed the song, the room burst into applause. Cash wiped the perspiration from his face with his arm.
“That was a workout,” he said. “I forgot how much fun that could be.”
“Don’t you play anymore?”
“Never any time. I have my guitar stashed in a closet, but I never get a chance to pull it out.”
“That’s a shame,” Sean said. “You still have the touch.”
“Not enough to pay the rent.”
“Always realistic.” Sean turned to Christie. “I think this guy was born sensible. Maybe you can use your charms to get him to lighten up.”
Christie smiled, not knowing how to answer.
“Well, I’ll say good night, and give you two a little privacy. We have the lounge gig all week. Maybe we’ll be discovered. Enjoy the festival, but come and see us before you leave. Maybe we can jam a bit more.”
Cash returned the guitar and the two men shook hands again. Then the trio moved on to serenade another table.
“You are turning into a mystery man,” Christie said.
“What do you mean?”
“You played that guitar like a pro. I never realized you had so much talent.”
“I picked up the guitar in high school. Then in college Sean and a few other friends and I formed a band. We entertained at cocktail lounges and bars, occasional frat parties, even bar mitzvahs. Helped pay for beer and pretzels.”
“You’re modest. You sounded really good.”
“You’re embarrassing me. Why don’t we go for a walk? We might as well take advantage of the weather.”
The moon was nearly full and cast silver streaks across the inky water. Waves lapped at the sandy shore and a stiff breeze ruffled tree branches and whistled through the pines.
Snow-capped mountains were in silhouette on the far shore. The night was magical, Christie thought. Walking side by side with Cash, her body brushing against his, she felt teased by his closeness. She expected any minute he would take her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he held her hand, and they walked on. She lifted her collar to ward off the chill.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“It’s the breeze.”
“Do you want to return to the hotel?”
“No, I’m enjoying the walk. It’s a beautiful night.”
“That’s not all that’s beautiful.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he slid his hands up the sides of her neck and cupped her face between his palms. The warmth of his touch set her skin on fire. She looked into his eyes and recognized desire, the same desire that turned her bones to mush.