Authors: Rhenna Morgan
What Janie Wants
What Janie Wants
By Rhenna Morgan
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2015 Rhenna Morgan
Published by Rhenna Morgan
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Content Editor – Penny Barber
Copy Editor - Mary Murray
Cover Design: © L.J. Anderson,
Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by
Mayhem Cover Creations
Getting Janie and Zade’s story written was truly a whirlwind. I never would have made it through the storm without loads of direction and input from some key individuals. My heartfelt thanks to Jami Denise, T.D. Hart, Sarah Hegger, CJ Burright, Dena Garson, Christina Gwin, and L.J. Anderson for turning things around with zero complaint and answering all those pesky Facebook messages.
Also super big hugs and shout outs to the ladies who whipped my story into the best shape possible—Penny Barber and Mary Murray.
A very special thank you to my wonderful readers. If I didn’t have you, writing these stories wouldn’t be nearly as fun or rewarding.
As always, my biggest thanks goes to my family. Writing would be empty without your patience, your encouragement and your love.
To every person who’s given tirelessly to others and awakened to find they’ve lost themselves. I hope you find your colors and paint a masterpiece.
Never, ever trust a bohemian minded, globe-trotting sister with travel arrangements. Life advice, maybe. But travel plans? Huh-uh.
Janie shoved her RayBans up for a better look at what had to be the Riviera Maya’s last remaining seventies throwback. Turquoise stucco walls, check. Architecture à la Frank Lloyd Wright, check. Cheesy marquee styled like the Gilligan’s Island logo—check, check, check.
Gypsy Cove.
It sounded like a place Emmy would pick. Tiny, quirky, and way, way off the beaten path. The odds of finding any cute little thatched roof huts or designer pools overlooking the ocean like she’d seen online were slim, but they probably had a whole storeroom full of little umbrellas for the drinks.
Behind her, the taxi driver sped out of the cobblestone circular drive, dousing Janie in a puff of lung-choking exhaust. Apropos of her life, lately. One fast getaway and a big old mess left behind.
She waved the smoke off and lumbered toward the unattended bell stand, her purse, overnight tote, and rolling suitcase vying for the chance to whop her off balance. The halter-top linen jumper she’d bought as a part of her suddenly single vacation wardrobe hugged her full figure a little tighter than it had the mannequin, but at least it was cool. August temps in Mexico could give hell a run for its money.
Surely they’d have a spa. Or at least a massage therapist. Wasn’t that a Caribbean requirement? Though, with the looks of this place, she’d probably get a masseur with long hair named Stoney instead of a muscled up man in a polo and golf shorts.
“
Oh, there you are.” A wiry middle-aged man with dull brown, thinning hair that stuck out in all directions and a much thicker mustache, loped down the short steps, flip-flops slapping with each stride. The poor guy’s tropical shirt was as wrinkled as Janie felt. “Dahlia said you’d be here. Janie McAlister, right?”
“
Yes, I’m Janie. How did you know it was me? Who’s Dahlia?”
He oomphed and hefted her overstuffed suitcase up the stairs in an awkward arch that would have thrown her back out for days. “Dahlia’s my wife. We own the place. She kicked me out of beach bingo to check you in. Also said to give you the room closest to the point ’cause you had shit to work through.”
She’d never met a Dahlia in her life, let alone made travel arrangements with one.
Emmy. Her well-intentioned but meddlesome sister knew all kinds of strange and oddly wonderful people. Janie could all too easily picture her sister on the phone plotting ways to pull her out of her post-divorce funk. Shit to work through indeed. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve got me at a bit of a loss.”
He plunked the suitcase down in front of the luau knock-off reception desk and darted to the computer on the other side. Pointy-fingering the keyboard about as fast as Janie texted on her new iPhone, he wrinkled his nose and squinted at the screen. His voice reminded her of Kramer on Seinfeld. “Most people are at a loss with my Dahlia. People with the gift are a little intimidating at first, but you learn to roll with it after a while.”
“
People with the gift?”
“
The gift.” He yanked a cabinet door open and a whole panel of old-fashioned keys with lacquered wood key fobs clanked against the surface. “The Sight. Premonitions. Connected to the universe.” He plucked one key off its hook and slammed the door shut. “The kind of mystical intel you don’t ignore.”
Yep, she was gonna kill Emmy.
“
Now, I’ve got you in the Dreamweaver suite. It’s one of the best.” He shuffled from behind his desk and handed over the key and a folder full of resort information then pointed toward a hallway at the far side of the lobby. “Head that way ’till you run out of doors. Yours is the last one. Perfect view of the beach. We’ll keep the mini-bar in your room stocked, but better stuff is at the poolside bar. The kitchen is at the center of the complex. Meal times are posted in the info pack in your room, but there are healthy snacks available twenty-four hours a day. All organic and locally grown foods, of course. I’ll bring your suitcase as soon as I wrap up here.”
Well, that didn’t sound too bad. The style of the place might be outdated, but the lobby was clean and cozy. Plenty of sitting areas and potted palms with coral flowers nestled between them for privacy. Maybe she’d skip murdering her sister and settle for good old-fashioned torture. She offered her hand. “Thanks for getting me settled, Mr.…?”
“
Oh.” He smacked himself on the forehead and shook her hand. “Silly me. I’m Arlo.”