Forgotten Honeymoon

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.”