Family Feud. Barbara Boswell

marriage and motherhood, and the American flag and apple pie, too.

      Shelby sighed, remembering. There was so much she’d blocked out since leaving home for college in California ten years ago. But now she was back and everything was coming back to her. Every little thing.

      “I’ve been an animal lover since I was a tiny little girl,” Laney was saying to Paul, who was still gazing raptly at her. “I’ve always had a menagerie of dogs and cats and birds and bunnies, but Shelby’s never had any time or interest in pets.”

      “You make it sound like I’m suffering from a personality disorder,” Shelby said dryly. Laney was very good at that, she well knew.

      “I suppose I’m just the maternal, nurturing type,” Laney continued sweetly. “Shelby’s the tough, competitive career woman in the family. And now she’s back to help run Daddy’s hotel. I’m so glad she brought you along to help her, Paul.”

      That seemed to snap Paul out of his Laney-induced stupor. “Halford House is as fabulous as you described it, Shelby,” he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “It’s going to be a dream come true, working here.”

      He could have added “with you,” Shelby thought wryly. But he might, given time, she told herself. She set her chin determinedly. He would, given time!

      She and Paul Whitley had worked very well together at the regal Casa del Marina in California and their professional relationship had blossomed into a friendship that seemed poised on the brink of something deeper. When she had decided it was time to come home at last, she hadn’t wanted to leave Paul behind, ending whatever hadn’t even had a chance to begin. She’d invited him to join her at Halford House, careful to make no personal demands or expectations. There were no romantic strings tied to her job offer to Paul to become her second in command when she succeeded her father. She had too much pride to attempt to bribe a man into caring for her.

      But she did have hopes. She’d always wanted marriage, and motherhood, too, though she had never dared to admit such dreams around Laney. Why couldn’t she run Halford House, be Paul’s wife and their future children’s mother—and even have a dog, too? A healthy mongrel whose stomach wouldn’t touch the ground when it walked.

      “I guess Shelby told you that our cousin Hartley was being groomed to take over Halford House,” Laney prattled on to Paul, “but he was killed in a boating accident five years ago. Poor Uncle Hal and Aunt Hillary—his parents—were so devastated, they sold their interest in the hotel to Daddy and moved to Arizona. I still cry for Hart. He was a hero to me, a larger-than-life golden boy.” She sniffed delicately.

      “God, that’s so tragic,” Paul gasped. He laid a consoling hand on Laney’s slim white arm. She gazed up at him soulfully.

      Shelby swallowed. She had fond memories of their cousin Hart, too, but neither she nor Laney had ever been close to him. Hart had been over a dozen years older and rarely bothered to speak to either of them when he was around. Laney’s hero worship of her late cousin seemed to be a new development. But it played well. As an attention getter, grief was very effective, indeed. As Paul’s tender efforts in trying to comfort her indicated.

      “One of the reasons I came back was that I wanted Halford House to be run by a Halford,” Shelby said heartily, continuing the family saga. “Hart’s brother Hal Junior isn’t interested in the hotel business and neither is Laney. So that left me. And here we are.”

      “Here we are,” Paul echoed, his eyes fixed on Laney.

      “Just like old times, hmm, Shelby?” Lane said sweetly.

      Shelby swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “Yes. Just like old times.”

      A tanned, teenage bellboy, wearing the Halford House uniform of white polo shirt and white slacks, approached the trio, carefully stepping over the tubby little dogs. His name, Brad, was embroidered on the shirt pocket in dark green thread—the official color of Halford House known as “Halford green.”

      “Excuse me, Miss Halford,” he addressed Shelby, though his eyes flicked admiringly over Laney. “I have a message from your father. He wants you to come to his office immediately. He said it’s urgent.”

      Shelby nodded. “Thank you, Brad. I’ll change clothes and go straight there.”

      “Mr. Halford said to come immediately,” Brad insisted. “Like right this second. He said it was extremely urgent and not to waste any time getting over there.”

      Shelby looked down at her red running shorts and white cotton tank top. Running shoes and white socks completed the ensemble that was fine for her brisk walk through the gardens and subsequent run on the beach, but totally inappropriate for a business meeting in the hotel’s executive office. Her hair was all wrong, too, pulled high into a ponytail instead of pinned tightly into her usual efficient chignon.

      “You’d better go right away, Shelby,” Laney advised. “You know how mad Daddy gets when you don’t listen to him.”

      Shelby knew. Though she was loathe to appear in a business setting in sport attire, angering her father would be worse at this point. At least, it would be until he saw her in this getup, thus embarrassing him in front of his business associates. It was a typical Arthur and Shelby Halford no-win situation, variations of which they’d been playing for years. Everything she did seemed to upset her father, starting with being born a girl instead of the firstborn son he had so desperately wanted.

      “I’ll keep Paul company while you talk with Daddy, Shelby,” Laney volunteered. “I’ll give him another tour of the place and quiz him on it afterward.” She smiled adorably, and both Paul and Brad looked ready to swoon.

      “Thanks, Laney,” Shelby said grimly. She had another flash from the old memory bank—Laney’s penchant for enchanting any man in Shelby’s orbit. It seemed Laney hadn’t lost the knack. And Paul, that glazed-eyed satellite, was already spinning toward Laney’s magnetic pull.

      A few minutes later the door to Arthur Halford’s office swung open and Shelby rushed in. Her father, staring out the wall of windows at the spectacular panoramic view of the sea, gasped and clutched his heart as he whirled around to face her. “Good heavens, young lady, you nearly startled the life out of me!”

      Shelby’s heart was pounding, too, her father’s unexpected dramatic outburst having startled her just as violently. Now he was glowering furiously at her.

      Defensive and embarrassed, Shelby struck back. “The bellboy, Brad, and three other people stopped me in the garden to tell me to get over here instantly. The minute I stepped in the door, Miss York demanded to know what had taken me so long to get here. You were expecting me, so how could I have startled you?”

      “You have a point, but it’s invalidated by your entrance, which was all wrong,” came an amused voice from the other side of the office.

      Shelby turned to face the direction of that voice. It belonged to a tall, muscular man lounging against the antique-papered wall. His sardonic grin lit a face of sharply carved features, including a pair of striking blue eyes, cool and assessing with a piercing intelligence and strangely at odds with his dark coloring. His hair was a thick black pelt that matched his eyebrows, which were currently arched high, giving him something of a satanic look. An arresting and very sexy look.

      Shelby tried concentrating on his clothes instead. They were not terribly flattering, lacking all traces of expensive flair. His navy sport coat, white shirt and khaki slacks were reminiscent of a parochial school uniform and his striped tie was dull, totally lacking any pizzazz. In one of the exclusive men’s shops in Halford House’s charming shopping arcade were clothes off the rack with far more style and dash. And if a man preferred a custom-designed wardrobe, that was also available.

      “Here at Halford House, one always knocks before entering,” the man continued, his tone definitely mocking. Shelby detected an unacceptable trace of insolence in it, as well. “House rules, I believe. And while your offense is not punishable by death, it is a severe infraction that must