Forgotten Honeymoon

He had no reason to disagree with her. “When it does, let me know.”

She patted his face affectionately, with the camaraderie that had arisen in the trenches over the past two years. “You’ll be the first, I promise.”

She’d begun to leave when he called out after her, “Really, what are you going to do there in…” His voice drifted off as he waited for her to tell him the name of the city.

“La Jolla,” she supplied.

“La Ho-ya,” he repeated incredulously. What kind of a name was that for a place? “You don’t belong in a place like that,” he insisted, “With all those laid-back, surf-obsessed weirdos running around. You’ll go stir-crazy inside a week.”

Spoken like a man who had never traveled outside of Minneapolis. “You’re getting your information from some bad movies made in the seventies, Frank.” She knew that, in his own way, he was concerned about her. That touched her. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. After debating with herself, she decided to confide in him, at least partially. “I want to turn this little side holding of Grandmother’s into something she would have been proud of.”

Not everything needed to be tampered with, Frank thought. He didn’t want to see her fail. God only knew what sort of repercussions that would have on her work when she returned. Not to mention on her. “Seems to me that if Kate Fortune would have wanted to change it, she would have done it herself.”

Maybe. And maybe there was a reason she hadn’t. “Not necessarily. She might have been too busy.”

He thought of the mountain of details still waiting to be tended to before the campaign was launched. “And you’re not?”

It was time to go. If she let him, Frank could go on like this all afternoon. And she had packing to do. “You can handle it, Frank.”

He rose behind his desk, his voice rising with him. “How will I reach you?”

“You won’t.” She tossed her reply over her shoulder. “I’ll call you.”

When I feel like it, she thought.

She had left everything in her customary meticulous order. Frank had all her notes on the new ad campaign and though she knew for a fact that she was the new blood that had been pumped into the veins of the stodgy department, she also knew that there wasn’t anything here that couldn’t keep, or be handled by someone else, until she returned. She’d done all the preliminary work. All that remained now were the uninspiring details that had to be overseen and implemented.

Kristina placed all thoughts about the department and the pending ad campaign on the back burner and turned her attention to the future.

A new future.

Who knew? This could be the start of something big. She had a feeling…

“Hey, Max!” Paul Henning cupped his mouth with one hand as he shouted above the noise of the crane. “It’s for you.”

He held up the portable telephone and waved it above his head, in case Max couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Max Cooper turned toward the trailer. He’d thought he heard his name being called. The rest of the men were too far away for him to hear one of them. Then he saw his partner waving the telephone receiver.

With a sigh, he took off his hard hat and ran his hand through his unruly dark brown hair. He sincerely hoped that this wasn’t from someone calling about yet another delay. The construction of the new housing development was already behind schedule. The December mudslides had set them all back at least a month. He had his people and the subcontractors working double shifts to try to catch up. The last thing he wanted was to pay the penalty for bringing the project in late.

Every time the phone rang, he mentally winced, anticipating another disaster in the making. Nature didn’t use a telephone, but errant suppliers and subcontractors did, and they could wreak almost the same amount of havoc Mother Nature could.

Replacing his hard hat, he waved at Paul. The latter retreated into the trailer that, at the moment, housed their entire operation. Max followed.

He made his way into the cluttered space, hoping that by the next job they could see about getting something larger. Right now, a new trailer was the least of their priorities.

Paul, a tall, wiry man, was as thin-framed as Max was muscular. He pressed himself against the wall to allow Max access to the telephone.

“We’ve built closets larger than this,” he muttered, still holding the telephone aloft.

Max indicated the receiver. “Who?” he mouthed.

Paul knew who it was, but he thought he’d string Max along for a minute. It appealed to his sense of humor, which hadn’t been getting much of a workout lately.

“She said it was personal,” he whispered.

He was between “personals” right now, Max thought as he took the receiver from Paul. He and Rita had come to a mutual agreement to go their separate ways. Actually, the word agreement was stretching it a little. She’d been screaming something about his “freaking fear of commitment” at the time. Those had been her parting words to him, ending what had otherwise been a rather pleasant, albeit short, interlude.

Warily Max put the receiver to his ear, wondering if Rita had decided to try to make another go of it. He hoped not. He’d kept his relationships short and predominantly sweet—the former fact being responsible for the latter—ever since Alexis.

But then, no one had touched him, or hurt him, like Alexis. And no one ever would.

“Hello?”

“Max? It’s June,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Normally pleasant, June’s voice was anxious and uncertain. “I hate bothering you at work, but I think you’d better come out here. You’re going to want to see this.”

June Cunningham, sixtyish, even-tempered and efficient, was the receptionist at the Dew Drop Inn, the small bed-and-breakfast inn that Max had found himself the unwilling half owner of. He would have sold his share in it long ago, if it wouldn’t have hurt his foster parents’ feelings. John and Sylvia Murphy were the only parents he had ever known, taking in a scared, cocky thirteen-year-old and turning him into a man, when everyone else had elected to pass on him. He owed them more than he could ever hope to repay.

So if they wanted him to take over their half of the inn, he couldn’t very well toss the gift they offered back at them. He left the management in June’s hands and stopped by on Fridays after six to look in on everything. Right now, knee-deep in construction hassles, the inn was the last thing on his mind. When he thought of it at all, it was in terms of it being an albatross about his neck.

He couldn’t imagine anything that would prompt the unflappable June to telephone him here, of all places, and request his presence at the inn. She’d never asked him to come by. What the hell was wrong?

“This?” he repeated. “Exactly what do you mean by ‘this’?”

“Ms. Fortune.”

It was a minute before he reacted. “Kate? She’s dead. She’s been gone for nearly two years.” He remembered seeing an article in the paper saying that the woman’s plane had gone down in some isolated part of Africa or South America, someplace like that. Her lawyer, Sterling Foster, had sent him a letter saying probate would take a long time, considering the size of Kate’s estate, so he should just continue to run it as always. But now it seemed there would be some changes.

“Not Kate,” June quickly corrected. “Her heir. Kristina Fortune.”

This was all news to him, although he had to admit that he’d been rather lax as far as things at the inn were concerned. It hadn’t even occurred to him, when he read about Kate, that whoever inherited her half would be coming by to look the place over.

“She’s there?”

“She’s here, all right.” He heard June stifle a sigh. “And she wants to meet with you. Immediately.”

June took everything in stride. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her hurry. “Immediately?” It was a strange word for her to use. “Immediately?”

There was no humor in the small, dry laugh. June lowered her voice, as if she were afraid of being overheard. “Her word, not mine. But I really think you should get here, Max. I heard her murmuring something to herself about knocking walls out.”

That caught his attention. Just who the hell did this Kristina Fortune think she was? He didn’t particularly want the inn, but he didn’t want to see it destroyed, either. It was part of his childhood. The best part, if he didn’t count John and Sylvia.

Covering the receiver, he turned to Paul. “Would you mind if I left you with all this for a few hours?”

Paul grinned as if he’d just hit the mother lode. “Hell, no, I was just wondering how to get rid of you. I love playing boss man.”

Max knew Paul meant it. He took his hand off the mouthpiece. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, June.” He cut the connection.

“Must be great to have a piece of so many different enterprises,” Paul joked. When Max didn’t return his grin, he asked, “What’s up?”

I don’t need this, Max thought. He liked things uncomplicated and this was probably the worse possible time to have problems rear their pointy heads. “Seems that the new partner at the inn has some fancy ideas about what to do with the place.”

Paul poured himself another cup of coffee. “New partner?”

Max nodded, hanging up his hard hat. “Kate Fortune owned the inn with my foster parents. She was killed in a plane crash a while back. June just called to say her ‘heir’ arrived. She thinks I’d better get over there immediately.”

“Doesn’t sound like June.”

Max pulled his jacket on. “She was quoting Kristina Fortune.”

“Oh.” He got the picture. “Better you than me, pal.” Paul saluted Max and then walked out of the trailer, back to the construction site.

“Yeah.” Max bit off the word as he strode out. He wasn’t looking forward to this.

Two

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—”