Forgotten Honeymoon

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?

Three

K ristina curled her legs under her on the double bed, keeping the telephone receiver tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She made a mental note that the bed needed a canopy to give it a more romantic flavor.

Just outside her window, the Pacific Ocean was having the beginnings of a turbulent discussion with the shoreline. The recessed trees that fringed the perimeter of the grassy expanse just behind the inn were shaking their heads in abject disagreement. A storm was brewing, albeit in the distance.

It was romantic settings such as this that would make the inn’s reputation, Kristina thought. Or at least part of it. The rest would be up to her, since Cooper obviously didn’t seem interested in her ideas. But Cooper could be worked around, she silently promised herself. She was nothing if not resourceful and determined. This place was begging for guidance.

Her aunt’s voice brought her mind back to the conversation. She’d placed a call to her as soon as she got to her room. As always, just the sound of her voice made Kristina feel better.

“I tell you, Rebecca, you just wouldn’t believe this place.”

Rebecca Fortune was her favorite aunt, the one who reminded her most of her grandmother. They were so close in age, Kristina thought of her more as an older sister than an aunt. Even as a child, Kristina had never been about to wrap her tongue around the word aunt when it was in reference to Rebecca. It just wouldn’t have felt right.

“It has such possibilities,” she enthused, warming to her subject and her own ideas. “But right now, it’s all completely mired in a horrid Ma and Pa Kettle look.” Rebecca loved old movies. Kristina knew that the reference to the movie series would get the idea across to her far faster than a whole string of adjectives.

“With a moose head hanging over the fireplace?” There was amusement in Rebecca’s voice.

Maybe she had gone a little overboard in her assessment, Kristina thought. But it was hard not to have that reaction, when the staff reminded her of people straight off some unproductive farm. “Well, not quite that, but close.”

Rebecca laughed with a touch of longing. “Sounds delicious.”

Kristina could see that her aunt relished the image. Rebecca probably found the idea of a secluded house inviting. Maybe it was, but not if that house looked as if it was falling apart.

“That’s only because you’re thinking like a mystery writer, not like a guest.”

There was no argument forthcoming on that count. Rebecca laughed softly at the observation. “Sorry, dear, force of habit.”

There was a momentary pause. Kristina could hear the transformation in her aunt’s voice when Rebecca continued. “I suppose that my thinking like a mystery writer is the reason I can’t accept Mother’s death.” She sighed. “The whole thing just doesn’t hit the right chord.”

Kristina couldn’t help wondering just how much of her aunt’s response was due to her writer’s instincts and how much of it was due to pure denial. It was a given that none of the family were really willing to admit that a force as powerful as Kate Fortune could actually be snuffed out so quickly, without preamble.

Still, she hated to see her aunt torture herself this way. Her grandmother had been piloting the plane herself at the time of the crash. Kristina knew that Rebecca’s hopes were tied to the fact that the body found at the site of the wreck had been burned beyond recognition. But who else’s could it have been? There’d been no one else on the flight. And after all this time there was no other possibility.

“Rebecca…” Kristina began, her voice filled with affection.

“I know, I know. You’re going to tell me to accept it, but I can’t.” There was neither apology nor defensiveness in Rebecca’s voice. She was stating a simple fact. “I want proof, Kristina. Something to absolutely close the book for me. Right now, I feel that it’s just a serial. Like in the Saturday matinees in the forties and fifties. ‘To be continued.’”

Kristina knew there was no arguing with Rebecca. In her own fashion, Rebecca was as tenacious as Kate had been. It was something Kristina had in common with them. “Well, has that detective you and Father hired found anything?”

“Gabriel Devereax is doing his best, but it’s just not enough. He’s also been involved in a lot of the other investigations, including looking for proof of Jake’s innocence. I know he didn’t kill Monica Malone, and soon we’re going to prove it. And then we’ll get back to Mother’s death. I’m not giving up yet.” The change in topic was abrupt. It was a signal that Rebecca didn’t want to discuss Gabriel or her mother any further. “You certainly sound like you’ve got your hands full.” She paused, obviously thinking. “Mother never really talked about the inn.”

Kristina looked down at the quilt beneath her. While still attractive, it had definitely seen better days. A lot of better days. Like the inn, it was worn in places.

“I don’t wonder.” Kristina laughed. “If I owned something like this, I wouldn’t exactly broadcast it, either.”

“But you’re going to change all that,” Rebecca said knowingly.

Kristina sat up a little straighter, as if bracing herself for the battles she knew lay ahead. She thought of Max and immediately frowned. “As fast as I can, provided Cowboy Max cooperates.”

“And that would be—?”

Kristina realized that she had skipped over that small detail when she told Rebecca about the inn. “The other owner.”

“Wait a minute, I thought it belonged to a couple named Murphy.”

“It did.” The phone slipped, and Kristina grabbed it, tucking it back. “But they retired, handing their interest over to their foster son.” She fairly snorted. “I guess they didn’t care what happened to it.”

What was left unsaid spoke volumes. “Sounds like you and he aren’t getting along.”

Kristina caught herself grinning. She could have said the same thing about Rebecca and the detective she’d hired. “There’s that witty understatement at work again.” She thought of their first encounter. “We’re more like a couple of junkyard dogs fighting over a bone.”

“That doesn’t sound too good. Make sure you take care of yourself,” Rebecca cautioned.

Kristina dismissed Rebecca’s concern. “Not to worry, this junkyard dog’s got clout.”

And Kristina meant to use every bit of her pull. She could get the advertising department to mount a campaign for the inn once she had it fixed up the way she wanted. The way it should be. She’d already drawn up a tentative schedule for the renovations. If things got rolling immediately, they would be concluded in six to seven months—just in time for the middle of summer.

“All Cowboy Max has is a sexy smile and cotton for brains. I can certainly handle that,” she said with confidence.

The telephone slipped again when she heard the knock on her door. Kristina glanced at it impatiently.

“I’ve got to go, Rebecca. There’s someone at the door. I’m going to be very busy, so I probably won’t call often. Let the family know I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Sure, but I’ve got a little snooping of my own to tend to. We’ve got to get Jake free.”

“Yes.” And she didn’t believe, for one minute, that her uncle had killed that dreadful woman. Uncle Jake, austere, reserved, was a rock. He would never be capable of killing anyone.

“Well, things are going to be rather hectic around here for a while. We’re all doing what we can to get to the bottom of this. Everyone knows that Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Kristina heard the knock again, and her impatience mounted at the interruption. “Everyone but the law. Do they have a trial date set yet?”

“Beginning of March.”

That would cut her time here short, but she knew the importance of a show of unity. She was just going to have to speed things up, that was all.

“I’ll be back by then,” she promised. “Good luck, Rebecca. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

A third knock echoed, this time more insistent. Probably that big oaf. It sounded like his knuckles banging on the door. She had no doubts that they had gotten large and callused, dragging around the ground like that.

Hanging up the telephone, she leaned over to the nightstand and replaced it beside the lamp. A hurricane lamp should be there, she thought.

Kristina gathered together the notes and sketches she’d spread out on her bed and deposited them beside the phone. “Come in.”

Curbing his annoyance, Max turned the knob and walked in. He’d caught a piece of Kristina’s conversation before he knocked. Cotton for brains, was it? He was going to enjoy showing her just how worthy an adversary cotton actually was.

As soon as Max entered, Kristina felt a wave of discomfort enter with him. There was something about his presence in her room that made her feel uneasy.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Kristina stood up. Without her heels on, the top of her head barely came up to Max’s shoulder. It gave him an unfair advantage. Nudging her shoes upright with her toe, she quickly slipped them on.

What was he doing here, anyway? She hadn’t sent for him. Though she tried, she couldn’t read anything in his expression.

She hazarded a guess. “Afraid I’d get started without you?”

Max hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans and gave her a long, studying look. Patience around this woman seemed to be in short supply, but for everyone’s sake, he tried to exercise it.

“The thought did cross my mind.” Cottony though it is.

There was something unfathomable in his eyes that contributed to the uneasy feeling wafting through her. The same kind of feeling she would have experienced by sticking her hand into a hole in the ground, not knowing if she was going to be bitten, or just find the hole empty.

“So why are you here?”

June’s words of caution rang in his ears. He chose his words carefully. “I thought maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

Was he trying to apologize? Was that what she saw in his eyes? Discomfort? It didn’t look like discomfort.

“Wrong foot? That’s putting it rather mildly.” Kristina waited for him to continue, anticipating an apology. It made sparring with him earlier almost worth it.

She had an irritating air about her. Max had come up to her room hoping to start over, to get her to understand how he felt about the inn. Strangling her wasn’t part of the plan, though it would have been a definite bonus. He could always claim she had bitten herself and died of poisoning instantly.

Max forced a smile to his lips. “I’d like to ask you to dinner.”

Well, he had certainly done an about-face. She eyed him warily. “Where?”

The woman looked as if she expected him to jump her bones. “Here.”

“All right. I was planning on sampling the food anyway.” Kristina decided to make the best of a bad situation. “We might as well discuss business while I do it.”

The idea was to get her to relax a bit, to mellow out. If all they did was talk business, he could see another argument erupting. That wouldn’t help to smooth anything over or generate the right atmosphere.

Max moved closer to Kristina, cutting the distance and, inexplicably, the air supply between them, at the same time. “I was just thinking more along the lines of us getting to know each other.”

A crack of thunder made her jump. She looked at the window, fully expecting to see that it had shattered. Lightning streaked the sky like the mark of an expert swordsman. Kristina let out a breath and turned, only to find herself brushing up against Max.

Lightning of a different sort jolted her.

It took her a moment to refocus her mind on the conversation. She pressed her lips together and asked, “Why?”

He hadn’t been prepared to be challenged over such a simple suggestion. “Don’t you get to know the people you do business with?”

He was up to something—she could smell it. She could also smell his cologne, which was musky and male and would have clouded her mind if she let it. She didn’t like distractions.

“If I have to.”

It was obviously something she would not do by choice. “You make it sound real inviting,” he commented dryly.

David had been exceedingly charming. She had trusted him, believed his words. And he had taken advantage of her. Nothing like that was ever going to happen to her again. Romantically or otherwise. Unless she missed her guess, Max Cooper probably fit into the same category, only the junior league.

“I didn’t come here to socialize, Cooper. I came here with a purpose.”

Riding on a broom, no doubt.

He wondered if she enjoyed irritating him. Trying another approach, he brusquely took her arm and ushered her out of the room.

Surprised, Kristina tried to yank her arm away and found that she couldn’t. “Hey.”

Max ignored her protest and tightened his hold. His voice was polite, if strained. “I think that once you become familiar with the surroundings, with the people, you’ll see that—”

She knew what he was going to say, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d already made her plans, and she was going to see them executed. “I’m sure all the people you have working here are lovely, but this isn’t their home. It’s a place of business. And I intend to see that it’s run like one.”

He didn’t want to create a scene. Releasing her arm, he waited until an elderly couple had made their way down the stairs, then continued what he knew was an argument in the making.

“You’re wrong.”

Of course. He had to say that. Men like Cooper were contrary about everything. “About what?”

Taking her arm again, he politely but firmly marched her down the stairs. He hadn’t wanted to really get into an argument yet, but he should have known better than to think he could avoid it.