Forgotten Honeymoon. Marie Ferrarella

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