Loe raamatut: «The Millionaire Takes A Bride»

In All That His Brother Had Told Her About Jackson, He’d Never Mentioned That He Was So Damn Good-looking.

Not the smooth good looks of a catalog model. But the rough-around-the-edges kind that made Annie’s breath catch in her throat and set her pulse racing. His rain-soaked thick black hair was smoothed back from his forehead, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, lean cheeks, a square jaw and a blunt chin.

He badly needed a shave, Annie noticed, and his thin white shirt was soaked through, clinging to the lines of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. And yes, damp, bedraggled and mud splattered, he was still the most attractive man who had crossed her path in ages. But she pulled her gaze away with conscious effort.

Get a grip, girl, she coached herself. This guy’s the enemy.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, the ultimate treat for Valentine’s Day—we promise you will find six passionate, powerful and provocative romances every month! And here’s what you can indulge yourself with this February….

The fabulous Peggy Moreland brings you February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, The Way to a Rancher’s Heart. You’ll be enticed by this gruff widowed rancher who must let down his guard for the sake of a younger woman.

The exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with World’s Most Eligible Texan by Sara Orwig. A world-weary diplomat finds love—and fatherhood—after making a Plain Jane schoolteacher pregnant with his child.

Kathryn Jensen’s The American Earl is an office romance featuring the son of a British earl who falls for his American employee. In Overnight Cinderella by Katherine Garbera, an ugly-duckling heroine transforms herself into a swan to win the love of an alpha male. Kate Little tells the story of a wealthy bachelor captivated by the woman he was trying to protect his younger brother from in The Millionaire Takes a Bride. And Kristi Gold offers His Sheltering Arms, in which a macho ex-cop finds love with the woman he protects.

Make this Valentine’s Day extra-special by spoiling yourself with all six of these alluring Desire titles!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Millionaire Takes a Bride
Kate Little

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE LITTLE

claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

One

Someone was banging on the door. Banging hard enough to rattle the hinges. The fact registered dimly on Georgia Price’s sleep-fogged brain.

As if this place needs any help falling apart at the seams, thank you very much, was her first waking thought. Then she sat up, swung her legs to the floor and brushed a careless hand through her sleep-tousled hair.

The banging persisted. “All right, all right. Keep your shirt on, pal,” Georgia muttered. She pulled on a sapphire-blue silk robe and clicked on the lamp near the landing before descending the stairs.

No hurry, she thought. She was certain of the identity of her caller, though they had never before met.

The flash of light within had obviously given her visitor encouragement, and he immediately called out on the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there, Will. Open up, blast you. I’m not leaving here until you open this door, do you hear me…?”

The tone was deep, booming—and belligerent. Just what Georgia had expected, although she hadn’t counted on Jackson Bradshaw arriving in the pitch-black middle of the night. Her sister’s fiancé, Will Bradshaw, had described his older brother, Jackson, as an extremely stubborn man, and Georgia fully expected a difficult encounter. But to descend upon her at this hour in the middle of a rainstorm, Georgia found positively…berserk.

While Will had warned her about Jackson, Georgia had believed he’d been exaggerating. Well, he wasn’t, she decided as the door banging and off-color expletives hit new heights.

She vaguely wondered if he would get violent—especially if he learned how he’d been tricked by the three of them—her, Faith and Will. The little scheme had been Will’s plan. With Faith’s help, the young lovers had persuaded Georgia to help them escape the wrath of Will’s overbearing, overprotective brother.

Maybe she was foolish to answer the door at all, she thought. Most folks she knew in the small town of Sweetwater, Texas, would greet a stranger at this hour with a handy household shotgun.

But Georgia was not the type to own a gun. She wouldn’t even allow her son, Noah, to play with water pistols. Besides, she was betting Jackson Bradshaw’s bark was far worse than his bite. Okay, so he was a high-powered, corporate attorney from New York City, no less. The man would naturally be on the argumentative side, she reasoned. But hadn’t Will promised that Jackson wasn’t so bad…once you got to know him?

Right now, shouting himself hoarse on the other side of her door, he sounded like her worst nightmare.

“And I’ll stay out here all night if I have to…” the angry voice continued.

It was a miracle that the noise hadn’t disturbed Noah, she realized. But her son had always been such a good sleeper, a trait Georgia had been especially thankful for as a single parent.

“Well, I guess it’s show time,” she murmured to herself at the bottom of the steps. She took a deep breath, then tightened the sash on her robe before she swung open the door.

His face veiled in shadows, Jackson Bradshaw met her carefully composed expression with a dark, searing stare.

“You sure took your time answering the damn door, lady. Is this a taste of the Texas hospitality I’ve heard so much about?”

“Speaking of time—do you have any idea of the hour, Mr—?”

“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know who I am, Georgia Price,” he cut in. His eyes narrowed to dark slits. “If there’s one thing that gets under my skin, its pretense—especially when it’s dished out by a woman.”

“I’m sure that any number of things get under your skin, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied with a small smile.

“And I’m sure my brother’s told you all about me by now, Ms. Price.”

“Only the low points,” she replied with a grin.

“Cute. I’ll have to remember that.”

He smiled, as well, folding his arms across his broad chest and leaning into the light. He took a long, appraising look at her, and Georgia had her first good look at him as well. Even, white teeth flashed against tanned skin. Deep lines bracketed his wide, sensual mouth, and small attractive creases appeared at the corners of his dark eyes. The transformation was mesmerizing. Dangerously so, she realized.

“Well…aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked finally.

Georgia had plenty of practice facing down intimidating men, but the moment her gaze locked with her adversary’s, she felt an egg-sized lump lodge in her throat.

“Of course, come in,” she replied in a shaky voice.

As he stepped into the foyer, she silently scolded herself for letting his looks affect her. But then again, she’d been taken by surprise.

In all that Will had said about his brother, he’d never mentioned that Jackson was so damn good-looking. Not the polished and predictable looks of a catalogue model, but the rough-around-the-edges kind, that made Georgia’s breath catch in her throat and set her pulse racing. As she busied herself, latching the door, she secretly watched him stroll into the living room. Black as a raven’s wing, his rain-soaked hair was smoothed back from his forehead, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, lean cheeks, a square jaw and a blunt chin.

He badly needed a shave, she noticed, and his thin white shirt was wet through, clinging to the lines of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. A colorful silk tie—the expensive designer type—hung undone from his collar. Probably ruined, she reflected. Though she was sure with his money he’d never miss it.

Damp, bedraggled and mud splattered, he was still the most attractive man who had crossed her path in ages. But she pulled her gaze away with conscious effort.

Get a grip, gal, she coached herself. This guy’s the enemy.

Besides, his personality clearly negated the attractive packaging. He was her adversary, and she had to play her part. Wonderful Will—who might even be her brother-in-law by now, if all had gone as planned—and her own beloved sister, Faith, were counting on her. She had to ignore Jackson Bradshaw’s good looks and remind herself that he was bent on destroying her sister’s precious chance for happiness with the man she loved.

And for no justifiable reason, as far as Georgia could see.

Will had told her a story about Jackson’s past, how he’d been spurned in his early twenties by his first love, a young woman he hoped to marry. But as the story went, Jackson’s father did not approve of the girl. Convinced she was only after the Bradshaw fortune, he met with her secretly, persuaded her to break off with Jackson and paid her a large lump sum to disappear. Coupled with the early loss of their mother, Will claimed the experience had burned his brother so badly he’d never again trust a woman in a romantic relationship. And unfortunately, not only were any women he met suspect, but women that Will met, as well.

Well, it was a sad story, indeed, Georgia reflected as she walked toward Jackson. But we all have sad stories to tell, she thought. She knew that only too well. One bad experience was no excuse to ruin other people’s lives.

He faced her squarely as she stood in the arched entrance way to the room. “All right, where is he?”

“I have no idea who you’re speaking about,” Georgia claimed with a wide-eyed stare.

“Of course you do, damn it! Don’t give me those big eyes and fluttering lashes. I’m immune to your charms, Ms. Price, plentiful as they may be,” he promised her. “I flew two thousand miles from New York, drove three hours from the airport to this god-forsaken nowhereville, got lost five times on the road and walked the last mile in the pouring rain!” His voice had started off at a reasonable tone, but rose with each breath so that his speech now crescendoed at shouting level, his face an angry scowl. “Now, you tell Will to get out here this instant! I’m tired of playing games.”

Georgia stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then she laughed, politely covering her mouth with her hand. Perhaps it was a nervous reaction to his tirade. Or some defensive reflex meant to show him she was not cowed by his anger.

But it really was funny if you thought about it, she realized. Jackson Bradshaw was truly a man on a mission. You could see it from the obsessed gleam in his coal-black eyes. He truly believed he’d arrived just in the nick of time to prevent her from marrying Will Bradshaw. Who he also believed was cowering in some dark corner of her house.

“I don’t appreciate your amusement at my expense, Ms. Price,” he said sternly.

“Please, call me Georgia,” she suggested politely. “We are on shouting terms and all.”

“All right, Georgia,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Now you are either going to tell Will to come out and face the music, or I’ll search this place from cellar to attic.”

“Help yourself.” She waved her arm airily. “But it won’t do you any good. Will isn’t here.”

He quickly glanced around the room, as if expecting his brother to step out from behind the couch or a curtain. Then he looked back at Georgia, glaring at her, obviously considering his next move.

“Maybe that is true,” he said finally, rubbing his jaw with hand. “I doubt that even my brother would stay in hiding this long while his fair damsel faced the dragon alone.”

Georgia watched him as he paced around the room, peered out the window at the wretched weather and then dropped the curtain back in place. Gee, she’d never been called a fair damsel before. It was a little corny…but cute.

“So, why isn’t he here?” Jackson persisted. “Are you two superstitious? No letting the groom view the bride before she walks down the aisle and all that?”

“I’m not the least bit superstitious,” she said honestly. “But Will is. Funny thing for a scientist, isn’t it?”

“Very amusing,” he replied blandly. “Where is he? You might as well tell me now and save us both a lot of trouble,” he warned.

“I don’t know,” she answered simply. When he stared at her in disbelief, she shrugged. “Honestly.”

He started to say something, then pursed his lips and sighed. She wondered if he was giving up or just getting a second wind.

She watched him warily as he gazed around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. She saw his expression turn to an appraising, scornful look. It was a look that spoke volumes to Georgia—he was wealthy and a snob. He’d never known anything but the very best life had to offer—raised on a huge estate in Connecticut, a Park Avenue apartment, private schools and Ivy League colleges, etcetera. She on the other hand, was raised in a backwater town just like Sweetwater, had left home pregnant and unwed at age seventeen and barely finished high school.

After years of scraping by at menial jobs, she had her own home and business now, an achievement that she was proud of.

But still, while Georgia had always found her home quite comfortable and had decorated it to her taste, she could understand how it must look to a man of his reputed wealth. She gazed around as he did, seeing the place from his eyes. The swayback couch, of 1890s vintage, was actually valuable—if she ever had the extra money to refinish the wood trim and repair the tear in the burgundy satin upholstery that was now cleverly camouflaged by a hand-knit afghan. The rocker, with its careworn velvet cushions, was in need of repair as well. She’d nursed Noah in that rocker, it held such fond memories.

The Oriental-style area rug that covered the polished wood floor had seen better days. But Georgia had other, more pressing financial priorities at the moment than finding a replacement. Paying the utilities bills, for instance. Besides, she was waiting for a suitable rug to pass through her hands at her shop. How could she force herself to pay retail prices, when sooner or later she’d come across the perfect replacement for free?

“You collect antiques, I see,” he said finally.

“Some pieces are antiques. Some are just…old,” she admitted. “I got most of the things through my business. I have a shop in town,” she explained. “It’s sort of a combination thrift store, antique and vintage clothes shop. We sell all kinds of things.”

“Yes, I know all about it. Georgia’s Attic,” he replied, in a smug, know-it-all tone.

“Yes, that’s right,” she answered, lifting her chin. At five-nine, Georgia was tall for a woman. But he was at least six foot two or three she guessed, and when he glared down at her she felt almost…petite. A feeling she did not often experience in the company of a man.

He stalked around her living room like a disgruntled tiger, practically growling under his breath. He picked up a china dish off the end table and checked the imprint on the bottom. It was Limoges, a discontinued pattern. Despite the hairline crack in the finish, it was worth something, especially to a collector.

“Nice,” he noted as he carefully set it down again. “From your shop as well?”

“That’s right.”

“I imagine you don’t make much profit, if you take home all the best pieces for yourself.”

“I do all right,” she bristled. The nerve of the man. As if it was any of his business how much profit she made.

He laughed, a cold, hard sound that contradicted her claim.

“I’ve already told you once. Don’t lie to me. I know very well what kind of trade Georgia’s Attic does—or doesn’t do.”

“Do you?” she challenged.

“Down to the last dollar. I’ve done some research, you see. Your profit margin is not very…impressive.”

Georgia felt herself flush red with anger to the roots of her hair. She didn’t make much money from her shop, it was true. But she did have her writing. It had been just a hobby for years, but if her publisher was right, she might be making more money than she’d ever dreamed with her second mystery novel, which was just about to hit the bookstores and had already received several good reviews.

But perhaps Mr. Know-It-All’s investigation had missed that fact, since she wrote under a pseudonym. Despite Will’s warnings that his brother would pull out all the stops, the very idea that he had investigated her—spied on her—made her blood boil.

“You’re the last person on earth I’m interested in impressing, Mr. Bradshaw,” she replied smoothly.

“But just so your facts are straight, you can note that I have other sources of income.”

“I’ll bet,” he said in a harsh, accusing tone. “Like my brother, for instance?” he added harshly. “Well, as of tonight, you can strike Will Bradshaw from your balance sheet. You’ll have to find some other wealthy boyfriend to set you up in the affluent style to which you obviously aspire. Clearly, your tastes exceed your income, Ms. Price.”

Georgia stared at him, too shocked to speak.

“Of course, with your looks, it shouldn’t be too hard to find another rich sap,” he added before she could reply. “With that face—and body to match— I’m not surprised you had a guy like Will twisted around your little finger.” His hot, appraising glance swept down her thinly clad figure, making her feel practically undressed.

While she knew she was decently covered, she instinctively clutched at the neckline of her robe. Then she turned on him, her temper exploding.

“You have some unbelievable nerve! Waking me up in the middle of the night. Raving like a madman. Coming into my home and insulting me in this outrageous manner!”

She knew she was only playing a part, but how dare he accuse her—accuse any woman he’d barely met five minutes ago—of trading money for romantic favors. Besides, if Will wanted to give his girlfriends gifts, even if those gifts included money, it was hardly his older brother’s business.

“Yes, play the part of the outraged maiden, why don’t you? The sensitive, innocent flower, trampled and slandered by a brute. An absolute beast,” he added in a mocking tone. “Have I bruised your tender sensibilities so harshly, Ms. Price? Well, let me put it to you another way then. As far as I can see, you are—as they’d say in the good old days—a fortune hunter, madam. Plain and simple, one who is after my brother’s money. If you think you’re going to marry him, think again,” he shouted at her.

“I’m sure you’re the one who needs to think again, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied, echoing his cutting tone. “Your brother is an intelligent, responsible adult who can and will choose who he wishes to marry. And without your grandiose, overbearing interference or approval, I might add.”

“You will not marry him,” Jackson Bradshaw countered. He stared at her from across the room, where he stood silhouetted against the long frame window. He was an intimidating man, some part of her brain noted. Intimidating, infuriating—and even now—disturbingly attractive.

She felt right now as if she despised him—not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her sister, as well. Will had been right. Dear gentle Faith would never have been able to stand up to this man. Georgia, who considered herself far tougher, knew she was having a time of it herself. How dare he judge her on such thin evidence—her worn-out couch and fledgling business. She couldn’t abide people who tallied up a person’s worth in such a superficial, materialistic way.

But at the same time that she despised him, some powerful undercurrent of attraction, compelling and electric, arced between them. It was a force that tugged at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he slowly moved toward her, across the dimly lit room.

Finally he stood before her. Inches away. She thought to step back, but her legs felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was stare up at him, studying the hard lines of his too handsome face, his large, dark eyes, his wide, soft mouth….

“Go ahead. Just try to deny it,” he challenged her.

“Deny what?” she asked, genuinely confused. Her thoughts had wandered. His nearness had totally distracted her, short-circuited her rational mind.

“Deny that you plan to marry my brother,” he insisted. “Tomorrow, in fact, at the First Church.”

“I have no intention now, nor have I ever wished to marry your brother,” she answered honestly. Though she could not deny that for the purposes of throwing Jackson Bradshaw’s private investigators on the wrong scent, she, Will and Faith had done all they could to create a convincing, false trail, including taking out a marriage license in town and printing a phony engagement announcement in the local paper. All in the hopes of luring Jackson to Texas while Will and Faith were off to some mystery location, tying the knot.

“Don’t lie to me—” he replied in a low, threatening tone.

He moved even closer and Georgia tipped her head back to look up at him.

“I know,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve been warned. You can’t stand pretense—especially from a female.”

He didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare down at her, a grim, unreadable expression on his face. Deep in his eyes she saw a flash of fire—was it anger? Or desire?

When she felt his large hands grip her upper arms she wasn’t surprised. His hold was firm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through her robe. She had the sense that if she struggled against him, his grip would tighten. But somehow the thought didn’t scare her.

“I can’t see you with my brother,” he said in a low, intimate tone that made her heartbeat race. “You’re not his type. Not at all.”

“Oh, really?” Georgia replied, vaguely amused. “Am I too tall do you think? Too…brash?”

“You’re a handful. The kind who needs a stronger man than my brother at the helm, I’ll tell you that much.”

“But we’ve only met, what…? Ten minutes ago? How could you have any idea what type I am?” Georgia insisted.

“Oh, but I do,” he assured her in a deep, quiet voice. “I know all about you, Georgia Price. All I need to know. Believe me,” he promised.

Had he pulled her imperceptibly closer? Georgia couldn’t be sure. Yet she was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.

She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and suddenly looked away. She felt in over her head. Way over her head.

“Are you blushing?” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hmm, you are. How charming,” he said sweetly. “Didn’t take you for the blushing type. Or is this some further performance? Hoping to find my sympathetic side?”

“Your…sympathetic side?” she stammered.

“You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.

“Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”

Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.

Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.

It was shocking.

It was wonderful.

It was a pure revelation.

Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.

Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.

Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?

Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.

“Mommy?”

Noah. He’d woken up.

Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”

He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”

Georgia wondered for a moment if she should tell one of the little white lies that help adults survive parenthood, for she could make Noah believe all he had heard was the TV. Then she thought best not to, realizing that Noah could easily get out of bed again and see Jackson Bradshaw.

With a hand on Noah’s shoulder she gently guided him back toward his bedroom. “Mommy has a visitor. But he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

“A visitor?” Noah sounded confused. And rightly so. Georgia rarely dated and never had men over for the night, out of consideration for her son. “Who’s here?”

“Just a man who got lost in the rain on the road,” she said. The explanation satisfied her as it wasn’t a total fabrication, from what Jackson had told her of his journey. “His car broke down near our house and he needs to call up for a ride to town.”

There, that should appease even Noah’s eight-year-old, insatiable mind, she decided.

She flipped back the comforter on Noah’s bed. “Okay, back to bed now.”

“How is this man going to get a ride to town?” Noah protested as he climbed back under his quilt imprinted with the infamous Curious George. “He’ll never get a ride into town in the middle of the night, Mom,” Noah assured her.

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

As she descended the stairs again, she realized that Noah was correct, as usual. The only way Jackson Bradshaw could get back to town at this hour was if she packed up Noah and drove him or lent him her vehicle. She guessed the time to be close to 2:00 a.m., and neither solution seemed appealing.

When Georgia entered the living room, Jackson was standing at the far end, gazing out at the rain again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned to look at her with a bland, distant expression, and it was as if their intimate encounter had never happened.

Just as well, Georgia decided. She was quite happy to skip any commentary or analysis. The moment had seemed like a dream, a wild fantasy. She couldn’t begin to understand her reaction to him—no less explain it.

“Is your boy all right?” he asked politely.

“He’s fine,” she assured him.

“I’m sorry I woke him. I hope he wasn’t scared, hearing a strange voice in the house in the middle of the night.”

His consideration for Noah surprised her. Was it an act, designed to put her off guard? Had that impetuous kiss been a ploy, as well? she suddenly wondered.

“I explained that your car got stuck on the road and you walked here for help. He said he didn’t think you’d be able to get a ride back to town tonight.”

“From the looks of your town, I suspect he’s right. If I’d sneezed while driving down Main Street, I might have missed it.”

“It’s not quite that dinky,” Georgia protested. “But Sweetwater doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour taxi service. We don’t have any taxi service at all, actually,” she admitted.

“And I suppose that, even if I could find a ride somehow, there probably aren’t any motels around here, are there?”

“Sure, there’s a motel,” she replied agreeably. “The E-Z Rest. About thirty-five miles north on Route 6. The truckers seem to like it.”