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"It's a small world, darling," he replied, making a mockery of the endearment. "I have an acquaintance
who knows a great deal about your night life."
"Night life!" she burst out. "My gosh, by the time I get back from a day of assignments in New York,
the last thing I want or need is a long social calendar!
All I do at night is soak my tired feet and get ready for the next day's assignments. The only time I go
out is on weekends."
"Sure," he replied curtly.
"And just who is your mysterious informant?" she asked pointedly.
"I'll introduce you one of these days soon," he replied mysteriously.
"I can't wait," she returned sarcastically. She turned away, folding her arms across her chest. The
blouse she wore was a camisole top that criss-crossed over her small breasts and tied at the side. Its
pale blue color contrasted with the white slacks she wore, and emphasized her dark eyes and hair, her
exquisite complexion. But King hadn't even noticed how she was dressed. He'd been too busy digging
up insults. And she'd had such hopes of mending the conflict between them today.
When he'd asked her, told her, about the trip to Banff, she really thought he had more than insults in
mind.
She stared out the window at the incredible height of the Rockies as they traveled down the valley and
across the Canadian Pacific Railway to enter Banff.
Banff was a shopper's and diner's delight, chock full of international shops, malls and restaurants.
And all around were the impossibly high, jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, giant stone sentinels
casting their majestic shadows on the green, lush valley where the Bow River wound like a crystal
ribbon.
"It's awesome," Teddi whispered, her eyes peering up toward the craggy summits that practically
surrounded the valley.
"Yes, it is," King agreed. "I've lived half of my life in the shadow of the Rockies, but they still take my
breath away. I can imagine how the old French fur traders felt when they saw them for the first time."
She glanced at his profile, the set of his head, the arrogant tilt of it. "One of your ancestors was a fur
trader," she recalled. "So was your father's father."
"I can see the question coming," he replied drily. "No, I don't look French, do I?"
She let her attention wander back to the sharp edges of the summits, where the timberline was clearly
visible. "I didn't say anything," she protested.
"My grandfather was French, Miss Curiosity," he told her, "but my grandmother was Dutch. And I
don't have to tell you which characteristics I inherited."
"Where are we going?" she asked, watching the small shops and restaurants whiz by as the Ferrari ate
up the miles.
"I thought you might like to see the grand old lady of the mountains," he said obliquely as they
crossed the bridge over the majestic Bow River.
"The who?" she asked.
"The Banff Springs Hotel," he replied. "The original hotel was built in 1888, and much of the credit
for it goes to William Van Home of the Canadian Pacific Railway, who thought that a luxury hotel
would increase tourism. The CPR expanded it up until 1910, when they began to rebuild it.
Unfortunately a fire destroyed part of the old building, but it was scheduled for demolition anyway,
and the new hotel was completed in 1928. I think you'll find the architecture unique," he added as the
gigantic hotel began to loom up in the distance. He glanced at her intrigued expression. "Three
architects produced what you see, and believe me, the interior is just as impressive. No expense was
spared on materials or workmanship."
"Oh, it's beautiful!" she burst out enthusiastically, fascinated at the towering structure, which reminded
her of a castle.
"You should see it at night," he replied, "with all the windows blazing with light. It's quite lovely." He
pulled up in the parking lot and cut the engine. "I can't imagine why none of us ever thought to bring
you here before."
"There was never time." she said, reaching for the door handle.
"Or we never made time," he replied, something harsh in his deep voice.
She let him guide her into the lobby of the majestic hotel, fascinated by the fossilized stone
throughout and the bronze doors to the Al-hambra Dining Room, where they had coffee and pie. She
felt as if her feet were barely touching the ground when they walked back to the car. King had been
polite, even courteous, and not a cross word had managed to get between them.
"Where to now?" she asked as she fastened her seat belt.
"You tell me," he corrected. "Would you like to go through some of the shops in town?"
"It's Sunday," she reminded him.
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