Mixed up in March (Spring River Valley Book 3)

Mixed up in March

By

Clarice Wynter

Published by:
Clarice Wynter

copyright 201
3
,
Clarice Wynter

Cover art by
Niina Cord

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, brands, media and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * *

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

With special thanks again to: JB, Jean and Niina for their hard work and helpful suggestions.

Icy slush splattered on Emmy as she reached for the handle of her suitcase. The cold, semi-hard drops of dirty, half-melted city snow plinked against her coat and slid down to land on the tips of her suede boots. She cringed. “Could this day get any worse?” she asked herself, just daring the universe to heap something else on her.

Between flight delays for her trip from Spring River Valley to New York City, the smelly cab ride, and the back ache she was going to have from dragging her luggage around, she’d reached her wit’s end. At least her hotel was four steps away, and a nice hot bath in a Jacuzzi tub awaited, along with room service and a good night’s sleep before she got to spend the day at the noisy, crowded Ad Expo at the Convention Center.

She gathered her bags and made her way to the revolving door of the hotel, struggled her way inside, and crossed the lobby. The woman at the desk offered her a tired smile, one that Emmy returned in kind.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Reservations, Bartoli.”

The woman checked her computer, but before she turned her attention back to Emmy another uniformed hotel employee appeared behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “Can you check this print out? We’re having a problem with the—”

“Hang on just a sec, I’m checking someone in.”

Emmy kept her smile in place
even as the wet chill of the slush seeped through her boots
.
Patience. Patience.

The two employees argued for a minute over the printout in question. “I’m sorry,” the woman said finally
, a hint of professional exasperation in her tone
. “This will just take a minute.”

“Sure.”
Patience
. All Emmy wanted to do was throw her luggage in the corner, strip off her travel clothes, and sink into that hot tub pictured in the hotel brochure. Her cell phone rang while she waited, and she figured it wouldn’t be rude to answer since the hotel clerk was busy messing around with the computer and glaring at her coworker.

“Hey, Evie.” Guilt washed over Emmy. She hadn’t called her friend when her plane landed as she’d promised. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

“So you made it?”

“Yeah, despite the terrible weather. I thought March was supposed to be springtime in the city.”

“Well, maybe in New York City, but not here. It’s still snowing.”

“I’m knee deep in slush. I’m just checking into the hotel. How’s Pauly?”

“He’s fine. I’m giving him his dinner now, but you’re out of paper towels. Where do you keep them?”

“In the garage, but be careful. Don’t let Pauly follow you in there. There’s a hole in the wall where an old vent used to be, and he likes to climb inside it.”

“Okay, I’ll be careful.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“He says meow.”

Emmy laughed. “Thanks for watching him for me. I can’t believe I have to come all the way to New York to listen to ad pitches. It’s such a waste of time.”

“Hey, you’re getting paid, and you’re staying in a fancy hotel. Don’t knock it.”

“I’m knockin’ it. I’m—oh, gotta go, my room is ready. See ya in a couple of days.” Emmy hung up just as the hotel clerk handed over a key card.

“I’m sorry for the delay, miss. We’re swamped because of the Expo, and we’re having computer problems.”

“It’s fine. As long as I’ve got a room, I’m happy.”

“Your room is on the seventh floor. Take these elevators up and make a left when you exit.”

Emmy grabbed the key. “Thanks.” She headed for the elevators and rode up to the seventh floor
,
humming to the Muzak, her mind on mountains of bubbles and waves of hot water. Why couldn’t these Ad Expos be held in warmer climates? She’d have happily gone to Miami or Barbados…but no. She had to take a one-hour flight to a city she could drive to in seven hours to listen to pitches for an ad campaign from
half
a dozen companies, some of which were closer to Spring River Valley than New York City was. It seemed like a waste of money to her, but as Evie said, she was getting paid, so why not make the best of it?

She found her room with no problem and let herself in. The bedside light was already on, giving the place a cozy glow. It sounded like the heat was on also, blowing a steady stream of warm air through the room. This was service. Finally letting the tension in her shoulders dissipate, she tossed her purse and carry-on across the fluffy queen-size bed, set her suitcase down in the middle of the room, and stripped off her coat. She rummaged in her bag for the lilac-scented bubble bath she’d brought with her and kicked off her
soggy
boots.

Just as she turned around, the bathroom door opened. Panic left Emmy mute and frozen to the spot as a puff of steam escaped into the room followed by the glistening muscular physique of a completely naked man.

She threw her bubble bath at him and screamed.

*

Jared Barton had only a split second to register the projectile aimed at his genitals. He reached down to protect the family jewels and took the flying plastic bottle to the nose instead. He stumbled back toward the bathroom, stunned more by the woman screaming at him than by the blow to the face.

“Ow! Holy crap…what…who the hell are you?”

“
Me?
This is my room—what are you doing naked in my room?” She lunged across the bed and grabbed the hotel phone. “I’m calling security.”

“Good, great. Oh my god, my nose! I think it’s bleeding. What’s with you?”

She reached for the straight-backed chair next to the desk, as if he were some sort of unruly lion that needed taming. “Stand back. Stay away from me!”

“No problem.” He managed to grab a towel and get it wrapped around his waist, then wet a washcloth and held it to his nose as her frantic voice came from the bedroom, “This is Emerson Bartoli in room…room—”

Clutching his towel, Jared stepped out of the bathroom to look at her. She was a brunette, mid-twenties, and cute except for the sheer panic on her face. “Seven twenty-four!” he offered

“Seven twenty-four! There’s a naked man in my shower…what? Yes, he’s alive. He’s very much alive, and I want him out of my room right now.” She slammed the phone down and glared at him. “You’d better get your clothes on. They’re coming to throw you out.”

“This is my room,” he said, shrugging. At least he hoped it was. The key card they’d given him when he checked in had opened the door, so this must be his room. He turned to the closet where he’d already hung his clothes.

“What are you doing? Keep your hands where I can see them!”

He pivoted back. “What are you? A cop?”

“Are you afraid of the cops? How often do you break into women’s hotel rooms?”

“Will you settle down? I’m getting a pair of pants, unless you want me to run around in my towel.”

Since she’d already launched her nearly deadly bubble bath at him, she’d picked up one of her discarded boots to use as a weapon. She stood now, holding the pointy heel toward him as though, if she believed hard enough, she might be able to fire it at him like a gun. “All right, get the pants, but no sudden moves.”

In response to her command, he moved very slowly. He showed her the jeans he pulled off a hangar. “My underwear is in the second drawer over there. Would you care to toss me a pair?”

“You put your underwear away?” She straightened but kept her grip on the boot, obviously ready to bean him if he made one of those sudden moves she was so worried about.

“Yeah, this is my room. I unpacked my clothes.”

“Where’s your luggage?” Her tone told him she couldn’t believe he’d have also put his luggage away.

“In the closet.”

She straightened some more and lowered the boot just a fraction of an inch. “Who are you?”

Jared ducked back into the bathroom, dropped his towel, and slipped on his jeans. Commando wasn’t his favorite state of attire, but he didn’t think he could get her to hand him a pair of his briefs. He emerged feeling a little more confident. “My name’s Jared. This is my room. Who are you?”

“This is
my
room. I just checked in.”

“Well, somebody screwed up.”

A knock on the door interrupted the standoff. Jared inched over to get it. A uniformed hotel security guard stood in the corridor with a man in a business suit behind him. “A lady called from this room, sir. Is there a problem?”

“He’s in my room. He was in my shower,” the girl yelled.

Jared backed up to allow the two men inside. “Are you a manager?” he asked the man in the suit. The security guard eyed Jared suspiciously.

“Yes, I’m José Valdez. What seems to be the problem here? Ma’am, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But he was in my shower.”

“It’s
my
shower,” Jared said. “My key and my receipt are in the top drawer over there. Can I show you?”

The security guard nodded. Jared retrieved his paper work and showed Mr. Valdez. “Jared Barton, registered in room 724. You checked in two hours ago, Mr. Barton?”

“Yes, sir.” Jared took his wallet from
the
drawer and offered up his driver’s license.

Valdez and the security guard looked it over as though it might hold some clue to this fiasco. “What’s your name, ma’am?” Valdez asked.

The brunette huffed, but she did finally lower her boot. “My name is Emerson Bartoli. I just checked in fifteen minutes ago, and they gave me the key to this room.”

“Mr. Barton and Ms. Bartoli,” Valdez said. “I think I see what happened. Someone mixed up the room reservations.” Valdez dialed a cell phone and spoke in rapid Spanish to someone on the other end. After a moment he hung up, a sympathetic smile on his face. “I’m terribly sorry, both of you. This was a mistake. Ms. Bartoli, it seems the front desk thought you were checking in under the name Barton.”

She sighed. “This happens a lot, but usually someone assumes I’m a man because of my first name.” Her face turned a lovely shade of pink. “I’m so sorry…I mean, about throwing the bottle at you.”

“No problem.” His nose still throbbed a bit, but he didn’t think it was broken. He’d live. “Thank God your aim was high.”

She blushed a deeper shade of red, and Jared found himself grinning at her. “I’ll just collect my things, and someone can show me to my room.”

Mr. Valdez’s dialed his phone again. “I’ll have someone come right up.” After another conversation in Spanish, which escalated to some yelling, he hung up and faced Emerson. “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Bartoli, but we have bit of an issue.”

Her gracefully arched brows drew together. “Oh?”

“It seems we don’t have a room for you.”

“How can that be? I have a confirmation number. I called yesterday to confirm everything.”

“Yes, but it seems that you checked in late this evening—”

“My flight was delayed.”

“Yes, I understand. But check-ins after six
p.m.
require confirmation of late arrival. Someone called the number on your account and was told you had already checked in, so your room reservation was cancelled. The room has been given to someone else.”