Three Little Words

The flight to Elkins took less than two hours, and true to Marianne’s promise, someone was waiting at the airport to take us to the inn. He was a quiet and polite seventeen-year-old named Damon, the son of the inn’s owners. He led us out to a new Ford Bronco and helped load our things in the back. Then he drove us an hour through snowy and winding mountain roads to the village of Snowshoe.

Christy quietly cleared her throat as we climbed down from the Bronco. I nodded and dug into my pocket for a tip.

“Thanks,” the young man said, “but I can’t take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“My parents won’t let me.” He shrugged and offered to help carry our luggage inside.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I can manage. Thanks for getting us here safe.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay.” He climbed into the Bronco and started the engine.

Christy and I headed inside, where a pretty blonde woman greeted us at the desk. Her blouse and sweater vest were modest but did little to hide her generous breasts, so I focused on the rest of her. She was about my parents’

age, and at first I thought she was the manager. Then I realized that her hair, makeup, and nails were all very expensive. Her jewelry was too, but her attitude really labeled her as old money, even better than a bank statement.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hughes?” she said. Then she smiled at Christy. “I’m Marianne’s friend Carolyn. Nice to meet you.”

The ladies exchanged pleasantries while I filled out the old-fashioned register.

“Let me call Damon to take your luggage,” Carolyn said as she took a brass key out of its pigeonhole.

I started to demur, but Christy unobtrusively touched my hand below the level of the desk. “Thank you,” I said instead.

Carolyn rang a bell and her son appeared from the office. “Number five,”

she told him.

Damon nodded and picked up our ski and boot bags.

“Your room’s at the end of this hall,” Carolyn said to us. “We laid a fire.

All you have to do is light it. Damon will show you. Call the desk if you need anything else.”

“Thank you very much,” Christy said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well. Enjoy your stay.”

Damon followed us down the hallway. The inn was only thirty or forty years old, but the architect and interior designer had done a good job recreating a rustic hunting lodge. The current owners had turned it into something from the pages of Architectural Digest or Town & Country.

I unlocked the door to number five and gestured Christy inside. Damon took a cue from me and followed her. He set our ski equipment on a little stone foyer next to the outside door. Then he showed me where the matches were, along with a stash of kindling and more firewood. He asked if we needed anything else and then left with a polite nod.

The room was larger than I thought it would be, with a big four-poster bed, a sitting area in front of the stone fireplace, and an armoire that also held a TV and VCR. The bathroom continued the upscale-rustic look, and Christy’s eyes lit up when she saw the cast iron claw-foot tub. It was plainer but larger than ours at home, meant for soaking after a long day.

The room cost a small fortune—the whole weekend was going to set me back more than I wanted to think about—but I still had an absurdly large balance in my savings account from the previous summer. Even so, I winced as the expenses added up in my mind.

Christy read my expression. “I don’t even want to know, do I?”

“No.”

“Thank you.” She slipped into my arms. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

“I know. My grandfather used to tell me to never put a price on women or children.”

She smiled. “Your grandpa or your papa?”

“My mom’s dad, Grandpa.”

“The Academy grad, right? I like him already. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“He’s a character. He’s also the one who told me to marry a woman with small hands.”

“I have small hands.”

“I know.”

“They make your johnson look big, although you really don’t need any help in that department. And speaking of which… I’ll make your johnson very big tonight. Only…”

“You need food first,” I chuckled.

“How’d you know?”

“I know you. It’s been almost three hours since you’ve eaten. And it’s almost dinnertime anyway.”

“Sometimes I really hate my metabolism.”

“Yes, but it gives you lots of energy for other things.”

She tightened her arms around me and breathed a deep sigh. “Mmm, it does.”

“I saw a nice-looking restaurant in the village,” I said after a moment. “A steakhouse, but I’m sure they’ll have something chicken or pasta.”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you want to dress up? I brought several ties, just in case.”

“And I brought a couple of dresses and some fancy lingerie. I think you’ll

— Hold on, why’re you shaking your head?”

“No underwear,” I said. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I went with it. “Garter belt and stockings only,” I added. “No bra, no panties.”

Christy swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”