Читать книгу Forgotten Honeymoon - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

I t had possibilities.

Stepping away from the taxi she had taken from the airport, Kristina had slowly approached the inn. It had no real style to speak of. The photographs she had seen in the brochure had turned out to be flattering and too kind. Still, the inn was rustic and charming, in its own quaint way. But it was definitely run-down. It reminded Kristina of a woman who was past her prime and had decided that comfort was far more important to her than upkeep, but it did have definite possibilities.

With a good, solid effort, and an amenable, competent contractor working with her, who understood what she had in mind, the inn could readily be transformed into a moneymaker.

The forerunner of several more.

Kristina had seized the thought as soon as it occurred to her, and begun to develop it. Her mind had raced, making plans, putting the cart not only before the horse, but before the whole damn stable.

The horse was just going to have to catch up, she had thought with a smile as she walked up the stairs to the porch.

Kristina had done her homework and boned up on the subject. She liked the idea a great deal. Why just one bed-and-breakfast inn? Why not a chain? A chain that catered to the romantic in everyone. If she could make it work here, she could continue acquiring small, quaint inns throughout the country and transform them, until there was a whole string of Honeymoon Hideaways.

Her mood had altered abruptly as she stumbled, catching the handrail at the last moment. Her three-inch heel had gotten caught in a crack in the wooden floor. Kristina had frowned as she freed her heel. Someone should have fixed that.

Fixed was the operative word, as she’d discovered when she went on to examine the rest of the ground floor, finally returning to the front room, where she had begun. The woman who had introduced herself as June had remained with her almost the entire time. She wasn’t much of a sounding board, preferring to point out the inn’s “charm.” It seemed that around here “neglect” was synonymous with “charm.”

Having seen more than enough, Kristina turned now in a complete circle to get a panoramic feel for the room. Ideas were breeding in her mind like fertile rabbits.

Her eyes came to rest on the large brick fireplace. It was dormant at the moment, but she could easily envision a warm, roaring fire within it.

“Fireplaces.”

“Excuse me?” June looked at her uncertainly.

Kristina turned to look at her. “Fireplaces,” she repeated. “The other rooms are going to have to have fireplaces. I’m going to turn this into a place where newlyweds are going to be clamoring to spend the first idyllic days of their life together.”

She ignored the dubious look on the other woman’s face. She made a quick mental note as she continued to scan the room. The coffee table was going to have to go.

June pointed out the obvious. “But there’s no room for any fireplaces.”

“There will be, once a few walls are knocked down and the extra bathrooms are put in,” Kristina responded, doing a few mental calculations.

Placing her escalating ideas on temporary hold, Kristina looked at the woman behind the counter. She’d had one of her assistants obtain information from June’s personnel file before she flew out. She had a thumbnail bio on everyone who worked at the inn.

June had been here for over twenty years. She looked very comfortable in her position. Too comfortable. From the way she talked, June probably would resist change, and that meant she was going to have to go. It would be better to have young, vibrant people working at the inn, anyway. Young, like the idea of eternal love.

The success that loomed just on the horizon excited Kristina.

“I need a telephone book,” she told June suddenly. No time like the present to get started getting estimates. “The classifieds.”

June had a really bad feeling about all this. Kristina Fortune had announced her presence with all the subtlety of a hurricane. The very few, very leading questions that the woman had asked made June believe that the inn was in danger of being torn apart, piece by piece, staff member by staff member. She liked her job and the people she worked with, the people she had come to regard as her extended family. She felt very protective of them, and of Max.

She wondered what was keeping him. She’d called him nearly an hour ago.

Kristina noticed that June gave her a long, penetrating look before bending down behind the front desk to retrieve the telephone book.

It only reinforced Kristina’s intention to replace her. June Cunningham moved like molasses that had been frozen onto a plate all winter.

No wonder this place was falling apart. Everyone moved in slow motion. The gardener she had passed on her way in looked as if he had fallen asleep propped up against a juniper bush.

And there was supposed to be a maid on the premises to take care of the sixteen rooms. If there was one, Kristina certainly hadn’t seen her since she arrived.

June placed the yellow pages on the counter with a resounding thud. “Planning on calling a taxi?” she asked hopefully.

The sentiment wasn’t lost on Kristina. Don’t you wish.

It wouldn’t be the first time she had run into employee displeasure. If she was in the business of trying to make friends with everyone, it would have bothered her. But Kristina had learned a long time ago that most people were jealous of her position in life. Jealous of the money that surrounded her. It had them making up their minds about her before she ever had a chance to say a word. So Kristina ignored the opinions so blatantly written across their faces and did what she had to do. She wasn’t out to make friends, only a reputation.

Kristina frowned as she flipped through the pages, looking for the proper section. She wondered where she could get her hands on an L.A. directory. This one was relatively small. There weren’t many companies to choose from.

“No, a contractor.” She spared June a cool glance. “This place needs work.”

“Antonio is our handyman,” June told her easily. “He doubles as a waiter.”

That would undoubtedly explain the condition of the inn, Kristina thought. “It’s going to take more than a handyman to fix up this place. It needs a complete overhaul.”

June thought of telling the woman in the crisp teal business suit that Max was a contractor, but decided against it. Max could tell her that in person, when he got here. It could be the icebreaker. And from where she stood, it looked like there was going to be a lot of ice to break, June thought.

Kristina looked around. There was no sign of a telephone on the desk. “Where’s your telephone?” Impatience strummed through her as she marked one small ad. Jessup & Son promised that no job was too small or too large. It was as good a place as any to begin.

The answer didn’t come quickly enough. Kristina waved a dismissive hand in June’s direction. If this was a sign of the service, no wonder there was no one staying here. “No, never mind. I’ll just use mine.”

Kristina opened one of the compartments in her purse and extracted her cellular telephone. Reading the numbers on the ad again, she punched them into the keypad. She raised her eyes to June’s face when she heard the audible sigh of relief. The next moment, the woman was hurrying to the front door.

Phone in hand, Kristina turned to see who had managed to liven the woman up enough for her to actually display some speed.

June hooked an arm through Max’s as she pulled him over to the side. “Max, she’s calling contractors. Do something.”

So this was the other owner of the inn. Kristina flipped the telephone closed. The call could wait. “Home is the hunter,” she murmured, quoting one of her favorite lines.

Slowly her eyes took the measure of the other half owner, from head to foot. There was a lot to measure. Tall, Max Cooper looked, in Kristina’s estimation, like a rangy cowboy who had taken the wrong turn at the last roundup. He was wearing worn jeans that looked as if they’d been part of his wardrobe since he was in high school. They adhered to his frame with a familiarity reserved for a lover. The royal-blue-and-white work shirt beneath the faded denim jacket made his eyes stand out.

Even from a distance, she saw that they were a very potent blue. The kind of blue she would imagine belonged in the face of a Greek god. If that Greek god was smoldering.

From what she could see, the hair beneath his slouched, stained cowboy hat was brown and long. As unruly and unkempt as the inn appeared to be.

Kristina was beginning to see the connection.

The man’s appearance might have impressed someone from Central Casting, as well as a good handful of her female friends, unattached and otherwise, but it didn’t impress her.

Business sense was what impressed her, and he apparently didn’t have any.

She was looking him over as if he were a piece of merchandise to be appraised, Max thought. He did his own appraising.

So this was the whirlwind June had called him about. He’d met Kate Fortune only once, years ago. She’d come out for a long Memorial Day weekend to sign some papers with his foster parents. He remembered the way she’d looked, sitting on the terrace, with the sun setting directly behind her, haloing her head. Even as a teenager, he’d known he was in the presence of class.

Right now, what he felt he was in the presence of was a brat. A very lovely brat, with great lines and even greater legs, but a brat nonetheless.

She had no business here.

He knew he read her expression correctly. Kristina Fortune looked as if she wanted all the marbles and didn’t care who she had to elbow out of the way to get them. Well, half the marbles were his, and he intended for them to stay that way.

Just the way they were, and positioned where they were, without any walls coming down.

Knowing the value of getting along with the enemy, June, her arm still hooked through Max’s, drew him over toward Kristina.

“Max, this is the new half owner.” Kristina heard the way the woman emphasized the word half. June’s smile deepened. “Kristina—”

Not waiting to be introduced, Kristina shifted her cellular phone to her other hand and stepped forward, thrusting her hand into Max’s.

“Kristina Fortune, Kate’s granddaughter. At least, one of them,” she amended, thinking of her half sister and cousins. Kate had treated them all equally, but only she was going to turn her bequest into a shrine for her grandmother.

Maybe I’ll hang her portrait over the fireplace, Kristina thought suddenly.

Yes, that would add just the right touch. She knew just the one to use, too. The one that had been painted on Kate’s thirtieth birthday. Her grandmother had still had the blush of youth on her cheek. Her beautiful red hair had been swept up, away from her face, and she had had on a mint-green gown…

He’d just said a perfunctory “Glad to meet you” and gotten no response. When he dropped her hand, she suddenly looked at him.

He had the distinct impression that she was only partially here. Which was fine with him. He’d like it even better if none of her were here. June and the others did a fair job of maintaining the old place, and he firmly believed in the adage that if it wasn’t broken, it shouldn’t be fixed.

He damn well didn’t want this intruder “fixing” anything. “You look a million miles away.”

Kristina cleared her throat, embarrassed at having been caught. “Sorry, I was just thinking of what I want to hang over the fireplace.”

There was a huge, colorful tapestry hanging over the fireplace now. His foster mother had spent long hours weaving it herself. He remembered watching her do it. Her fingers had seemed to sing over the loom. She was one-quarter Cherokee; the tapestry represented a history that had been handed down to Sylvia Murphy by her grandmother’s people. He was very partial to it.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with what’s over it now?”

It was natural for him to challenge her. She’d already made up her mind that he would resist change. The unimaginative always did.

“It doesn’t fit the motif,” she said simply.

What the hell was she talking about? They hadn’t discussed anything yet. They hadn’t even gotten past hello. “Motif? What motif?”

“The new one I’ve come up with. We’re turning this into a Honeymoon Hideaway.” She watched his expression, to see if he liked the name. He didn’t.

Kristina paused and blew out a breath. Since he was the other owner, she supposed she had better explain it to him, even though she hated explaining herself to anyone. She preferred doing, and letting others watch and see for themselves.

Kristina got the distinct impression that Cooper wasn’t going to be as amenable to her methods as Frank was. “I guess I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Now there was an understatement. Max exchanged a look with June and missed the fact that it annoyed Kristina. It would have been a bonus, as far as he was concerned.

After pushing his hat back on his head, he hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans. “I’d say you were getting ahead of just about everyone. What makes you think we need a ‘motif’?”

He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Well, you certainly need something.”

He didn’t care for her condescending tone of voice. “The inn is doing just fine.”

“Just fine,” she repeated softly. She gave him a long, slow look, as if she were appraising him again, and this time finding him mentally lacking. He could feel his temper rising. It was the fastest reaction he had ever had to anyone. “I take it that you don’t bother looking at the inn’s books.”

No, he didn’t, not really, but he didn’t care for her inference. “June handles the books.” He nodded at the woman, who was once again safely ensconced behind the counter. “I review them.”

“Not often enough.” Probably every leap year, Kristina guessed.

He’d had just about enough of this. His real business needed him, not the inn. The inn would do just fine continuing the way it had. Without her fingers all over it. “Just what gives you the right to come waltzing in here—”

She had to stop him now, before he got up a full head of steam and wasted both their time. He might have time to kill, but she didn’t.

“I didn’t ‘waltz,’” she corrected sharply. “I walked—nearly breaking my neck on the loose board in the front, I might add.”

He set his mouth hard, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Pity.”

She got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t apologizing for the presence of the loose board, he was lamenting the fact that she’d avoided the injury.

Ignoring that, she continued, getting to her point. “And I’ve had a good hour to look around—”

One hour, and she was passing judgment on his foster parents’ lives’ work. “That makes you an expert.”

She raised her chin as she took up the challenge in his voice. “No, I arrived being an expert.”

God, talk about brass. Hers was glinting in the sun, and could have served as a beacon to guide ships home in a fog. “On inns.”

Kristina ignored the obvious sarcasm. “On profit margins, and how to sell something.”

He took his time in responding, instinctively knowing that it annoyed her. “And what, exactly, is it that you sell?”

She could have slapped him for what he was obviously thinking, but it wouldn’t have gotten them anywhere. After all, she’d come here to work. Even with an insufferable mental midget like him. “I’m an ad executive. I’m responsible for the Hidden Sin campaign.”

He was vaguely aware that she was referring to a perfume. The latest copy of a magazine he subscribed to had arrived in the mail smelling to high heaven, because one of the pages had been impregnated with the scent. “Congratulations. I heard sin came out of hiding.”

“The perfume,” she retorted.

Inexplicably enjoying the fact that he could bait her, Max responded, “Never heard of it.”

If he thought he was getting to her, he was mistaken. “I don’t doubt it. We haven’t found a way to pipe the commercials into people’s sleep yet.”

He heard her message loud and clear. At another time, it might have amused him. But she, and her manner, irked him beyond words. “You’re implying that I’m lazy?”

Kristina crossed her arms before her chest. Her expression congratulated him on finally catching on. “The inn is run-down, the bookings are off,” she pointed out, warming up. “You’re in the red—”

He cut in curtly. “It’s the off-season.” From the corner of his eye, he saw June shaking her head in disapproval. What was he supposed to do, humor this crazy woman?

Right there was the beginning of his problem, Kristina thought. “There shouldn’t be an off-season in southern California.”

He looked at her, completely mystified by her reasoning. “Is this something you just made up?”

She sighed. She was trying to hold on to her temper, but he wasn’t making it easy for her. She’d carried on better conversations with her parakeet. “If you’re going to challenge everything I say, Cooper, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

He took a moment to compose himself. “What makes you think I want to get anywhere with you, Ms. Fortune? I like the inn just the way it is.”

He might, but what he wanted alone didn’t count. She eyed the wide sofa before the fireplace. If it had a style, it might have been Early American. That, too, would have to go.

“Not good enough.” She ran her hand along the floral upholstery and wondered when it had last been cleaned. “I’m half owner.”

He read her intentions loud and clear. Very deliberately, he removed her hand from the sofa. “And you can’t do anything without my half.”

Can’t had never been part of her vocabulary. “I can buy you out.”

Ironic, wasn’t it? He had wanted to sell his ownership in the inn. Ever since his foster parents had given it to him, he’d wanted to sell it and devote himself completely to his business. Now the perfect opportunity was presenting itself, but he wasn’t about to take it.

He wasn’t about to sell his share to her, because that would mean selling out, selling out and abandoning people he’d known for a long time. He had no doubt that within ten minutes of his signing the deed over to her, Kristina Fortune would send the staff packing and hire some plastic people to take their place.

He’d be damned if he was going to let her fire people he had known and liked for years. There was a place for loyalty in this world, even if fancy ad executives with creamy skins didn’t know it.

“No, you can’t,” he told her. “Not if I don’t want to sell.”

He wasn’t making sense. It was clear he didn’t have any interest in the place. If he did, he wouldn’t have let it deteriorate to this extent. She hated things that didn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand. Why would you want to let all this go to waste?”

There was a fantastic view of the ocean from the rear of the inn. People would pay dearly for the opportunity to wake up in the morning to it. Yet the hotel’s bookings were way off, even for the so-called off-season.

People like Kristina Fortune only had one view of things—their own. He’d had experience enough with her kind. Alexis had been a great teacher.

His mouth hardened. “What makes you think it’s going to waste?”

Oh, God, the man was an idiot. Good-looking, but an idiot. She looked at his face again, taking in the rugged lines, the sensual sweep of his lashes. The bone structure that was faintly reminiscent of the tribes that had once walked this land freely. He was probably accustomed to getting by on his looks and nothing more.

But that wasn’t going to cut it here, not with her. Especially not when it got in the way.

“Anyone with half a brain would know—” Kristina began testily.

Having stood on the sidelines long enough, June came around from behind the desk and placed herself between the two of them. She could almost hear the lightning crackling on either side of her. This exchange wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere. They both needed to cool off and begin again. She didn’t care a whit about Kristina and what she did or didn’t want, but she did care about the inn and Max.

“Ms. Fortune, why don’t I have Sydney take you up to your room?” June suggested brightly, as if Kristina had just walked in. Her smile was warm and genial. “You must be tired, after your long flight out here from—” She let her voice trail off as she raised her brow inquiringly, waiting for Kristina to supply a location.

“Minneapolis,” Kristina replied tersely, her eyes never leaving Max’s infuriating face.

June nodded, as if the city’s name had been on the tip of her tongue. “Five-hour flight. Bound to make you tired.” If she had been a bird, she would have been chirping. “Sydney!” She raised her voice, letting it carry to the rear of the inn. The last time she saw the young woman, Sydney had been on her way to the kitchen to see about getting lunch.

Kristina wasn’t tired, but she did appreciate the value of retreating and regrouping. Shouting at this numbskulled cowboy wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed a few minutes to freshen up.

And to get a better grip on her temper. She rarely lost it, but this man seemed to have an ability to wrench it from her with breathtaking speed.

“All right,” she agreed. “I can unpack a few things, and then we can get started. I have a lot of notes and sketches I want to go over with you.”

“I can hardly wait,” Max muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Kristina refrained from answering. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. But not impossible. Nothing, she firmly believed, was ever impossible if you were determined enough. And she was.

Sydney appeared, moving in the same unhurried gait that seemed to be prevalent here, Kristina thought. Maybe Frank hadn’t been wrong in his assessment of life in southern California. It was just too slow and laid-back for her.

But she had no intention of moving here. Just of moving things along.

June noted the curiosity in Sydney’s eyes as the young woman looked at Kristina.

“Sydney, this is Kate Fortune’s granddaughter, Kristina,” June said. “She’ll be taking Kate’s place. This is Sydney Burnham, the baby of our group.”

Sydney had been working at the inn for only the past four years. Coming to work during the summer between her junior and senior year at college, Sydney had joined the staff permanently after graduation, preferring the unhurried pace in La Jolla to the frantic life of a stockbroker.

Sydney looked around for luggage and noticed the two suitcases off to the side, by the desk. She picked up one in each hand and nodded at the newest guest. “Nice to meet you, Kristina.”

The greeting was entirely too informal to suit Kristina. There had to be distance between management and employees in order for things to run smoothly. “Ms. Fortune,” she corrected.

Max rolled his eyes as he turned his back on Kristina.

June waited until the two women had disappeared up the stairs before saying to Max, “I think I just bought you a little time.”

“I have a feeling a century wouldn’t be enough when it comes to that woman. She’s spoiled, self-centered and pigheaded.”

June laughed at the assessment. “And those are her good qualities.” Time for a little pep talk. “But you’ll find a way to pull this out of the fire, Max. I know you will.”

Max thought of his foster father. The man was a born arbitrator. He could use him now. Max shook his head.

“I’m not John Murphy.”

June had always liked Max’s modest streak. A man as good-looking as he was could easily have been conceited. “No, but he taught you well. You’ll find a way to get along with her, and get her to ease up those grand plans I see forming in her head.”

He had his doubts about that. “At times I think you give me too much credit.”

“At times, I don’t think you give yourself enough.” June looked up the stairs and shivered in spite of herself. There was a lot at stake here. “You’ve got to do something, Max. I get the definite impression that she wants all of our jobs.”

That made two of them. Max frowned. He’d never seen the advantage in lying. “So do I, June. So do I.”

There had to be a way to make Kristina Fortune see reason. The magic question was, how?