Turning left, she headed straight into the women’s locker room. As far as she could remember, only a handful of guests were in residence this week. More than likely she would have the gym and the pool to herself.

After dumping her outerwear in the locker that the hotel kept for her, she stripped down to her black sports bra and bike pants, tugged on her socks and cross-trainers.

Her mood was up again at the prospect of a good sweaty bout with the resistance machines and free weights. Since she despised the treadmill she would save the aerobic portion of her workout for the hotel pool.

She circled around the locker room for the door leading to the gym. She heard the clang of metal on metal before she saw anyone. Her mood wavered again. The TV was on, tuned to one of the early-morning shows full of chatter and cheer.

She preferred blasting music when she worked out.

But her glance toward the bench press turned her scowl into interesting speculation. She couldn’t see much of him, but what she could see was superior.

Long legs, toned and muscled and already sheened with sweat. Long arms, sleek biceps rippling on the lift and set. She approved of his shoes, a good brand, basic style and far from new. He was bench-pressing120 in smooth, steady reps. Better and better. This wasn’t a weekend warrior but a regular. And if the rest of him lived up to his limbs, he was hot. If she was going to have to share the equipment with someone, he might as well be hot, buff, and sweaty.

Just the way I like ’em, she thought with delight. She was missing men—at least missing sex. She would just check out Mr. Fitness here and see if he lived up to the advertising. She snagged a towel, hooked it around her shoulders, and wandered his way.

“Need a spotter?” she began, then nearly choked as she looked down into Mac’s face. He grunted, lowered the bar. “Hey, how’s it going? Some snow last night, huh?”

“Yeah, some snow.” In disgust she turned away to begin her warm-up stretches. Wouldn’t you just know it? Just as she starts to get stirred up, Mr. Fitness turns out to be Dr. Geek.

“Nice club,” he commented, grunting a little as he pressed the bar up. “I was surprised to find it empty.”

“Not much traffic in the hotel this time of year.” She spared him a look. He hadn’t shaved, and that shadow of stubble turned the attractive bookworm face into something edgy. Sexy. Damn it, he was hot.

“Did you get a membership?” she asked him.

“Yeah. Damn, lost count. Well.” He hooked the bar on the safety, scooted up. “You work out here regularly?”

“No. I’ve got a setup at home. Free weights, a Bowflex. But when I can’t run outside, I like to use their stuff, and the pool. Are you watching this junk?”

He adjusted the weight and pressure on another machine, glanced at the television. “Not especially.”

Taking this for a no, she switched it off while he settled into leg presses. She turned the music on, and up to blasting to discourage any conversation.

Unfazed, Mac worked through his routine while she worked through hers. He watched her, mostly out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t ogle women in health clubs. It wasn’t, well, polite. But he was human. It was only the two of them, and she had one beautiful, tight body.

Shame about the attitude.

He thought about what he’d seen on the beach two nights before, that instant when he’d thought it was Ripley standing there. Of course it hadn’t been. He’d realized that almost immediately. The eyes had been almost the same. That sharp, intense, and pure green. But the woman, or the vision, or whatever it had been on the beach, hadn’t had that taut, disciplined body. And her hair, while dark and long, had been curling coils where Ripley’s was straight as rain.

And the face, though there’d been some resemblance, had been softer, sadder, rounder. Added to all that was the fact that he didn’t think Ripley Todd would stand on a dark beach, weeping, then vanish into the air.

It had been one of the sisters, he was sure. And from the research he’d done, he was betting on the one called Earth.

Still, Deputy Todd was a part of it all. He was sure of that, too.

He just wasn’t sure how to chip through that flinty attitude and work on—that is, work with her. Since he intended to do just that, it wasn’t a coincidence that they picked up free weights at the same time. She started with flies. He followed suit.

Despite the music, they were close enough now for him to speak without shouting and feeling like a moron.

“How’s the food in the restaurant here?”

“Two restaurants. Fine. Fancy one’s pricey.”

“You up for breakfast after this? I’m buying.”

She slanted him a look. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get back.”

He saw her gaze at his weights. He was pumping twenties. She was using tens. But between the beat of the music and the mirrored motions, they were lifting in unison.

“I’ve got my equipment set up.” He set it casually as they both switched motions. “You’ll have to come by and take a look.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Curiosity. If you’re uneasy about what happened last time, I can promise not to touch you.”

“I’m not uneasy about anything.”

There was just enough bite in her voice to show him exactly how to chip away. Some women were vain about their looks, or their brains. Ripley was vain about her spine.

“I couldn’t blame you for being reluctant to come around, or even to talk to me after that.” His smile was back, easygoing, edging toward sheepish. “I tend to forget that laypeople aren’t used to paranormal events. It can be scary.”

“You think I’m afraid?” She gritted her teeth, continued her reps. “You don’t scare me, Booke, and neither do your stupid toys.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Voice cheerful, face pleasant, he finished off the mat routine and got up to do bicep curls. “I was a little worried, the way you took off.”

“I didn’t take off.” She snapped it out and began to work on her triceps. “I left.”

“Whatever.”

“I had work to do.”

“Okay.”

She sucked in a breath and imagined what would happen to that dopey grin of his if she smashed her barbell in his face. “You may be the idle rich, buddy, but I work for a living.”