by Carsen Taite
“I do care. Sorry, I spent so much time talking about me. What’s going on with you?”
Drew didn’t seem to know what to say. “I don’t think I want to talk about it. Look, I need to get going.” She tossed some cash onto the table. “Didn’t you say you needed a ride? Where do you want me to take you?”
Greer hid her surprise. She had assumed Drew would take her to the ranch, but it didn’t look like Drew was offering that as an option. She wasn’t ready to admit she didn’t have a place to go. “This was kind of a last-minute trip. I didn’t make any plans in advance. I don’t suppose you have room at the hotel?”
Drew paused as if trying to make up her mind about something. Finally, she spoke. “We’ve got rooms, but Mom and Dad would probably kill me if they find out you’re in town and I didn’t bring you home with me. If you can bear staying out in the sticks.”
“I can bear it.”
“Come on, then.” Drew led the way to her truck and loaded the small piece of luggage Ethan had purchased for her at the airport. As she hefted the bag into the trunk, she remarked, “This feels like air. What’s in here?”
“Nothing. Ethan bought it for me at the airport so I’d look like a real traveler instead of a rock star on the run.”
Drew grinned. “How is he?”
“Same as usual. I swear he loved the drama of spiriting me away. He’s probably made up all kinds of crazy stories about my demise.”
As they drove out of the parking lot, Greer put her hand on Drew’s arm. “Hey, do you mind driving by the hotel? I’d kind of like to see the old place.” She pushed away the nagging thought a drive around the square might net a sighting of Ainsley, the tourist, catching the sights. Even though she was determined to hide out at the ranch and avoid human contact, she harbored some small regret she had seen the last of Ainsley Faraday. Despite the fact Ainsley had seemed quick to pass judgment on a total stranger, Greer was attracted to the juxtaposition of her uptight tailored look with simmering sexiness lurking beneath.
Drew nodded and turned the car from Guadalupe onto Alameda to loop around downtown toward Palace Ave. Greer scratched her head. “Something’s been bugging me. When I called earlier to talk to you, the hotel operator said, ‘Lancer Hotel, a Steel Property.’ What’s going on?”
Drew shook her head. “A lot’s happened since you were last here.”
Chapter Six
“One at a time!” Ainsley raised her hand to silence the group assembled in her suite. “I know we have a big job to do, but we’re going to operate in an orderly fashion. Understood?”
The group nodded assent. Frank had assembled the top tier of the Steel Line to manage this takeover, and Ainsley knew he was sending a message. The Lancer acquisition was very important to him. After her drive-by this afternoon, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. The outside of the hotel showed signs of wear. Some might consider it charming, but in a town that was an attraction for the rich and famous, rustic charm didn’t cut it as a competitive destination. Summarizing their mission was simple: turn the Lancer into the hottest new boutique property owned by the Steel Hotel line. It was the execution Ainsley was worried about. One of the contract conditions required the current manager, the daughter of the Lancers, would stay on. She would have an equal say regarding personnel issues, at least with regard to current staff. Ainsley wondered what had possessed Frank to agree on such a major concession. Traditional takeover protocol dictated replacement of the top personnel, or at the very least, the general manager.
Of course, the transition team’s off-site housing at the El Dorado was also a total departure from usual Steel procedures, but the smaller Lancer hotel had been booked for months for the days leading up to Las Fiestas in Santa Fe. Ainsley didn’t have a clue what Las Fiestas was, but after seeing the Lancer for herself, she was quite happy to be staying at the more modern El Dorado. Frank didn’t do the booking himself, but she was certain he was responsible for her having the roomy and impressive Presidential Suite, which allowed ample room for the entire team to assemble for these planning sessions.
The group in front of her had been on site for several days prior to Ainsley’s arrival. Their job so far had been to observe and prepare reports she would use to guide the takeover process. Ainsley would take everything they had to say and prioritize the transition process. She had a meeting scheduled first thing in the morning with the current general manager, and she would have a task list ready to present if she had to stay up all night to get it done.
“Paul, give us a general rundown of the front of the house operations.” Ainsley called on the man she remembered from her stint at the Steel’s San Francisco property. Paul Garret was the pickiest man she knew, especially when it came to appearances. Even as most of the assembled group sat on the floor, dressed in a random assortment of jeans and T-shirts, Paul was perched on the edge of his chair, decked out in a stylish Prada suit. He had a wealth of experience heading transition teams for Steel, and if the more experienced Ainsley had not been present, he probably would have been in charge of this job. Paul glanced studiously at his leather bound notebook before replying.
“I’m not sure where to begin. At first glance the place is dreadful.” At Ainsley’s impatient nod, he rushed to add specifics. “The front desk clerk, emphasis on the singular here, doubles as the concierge. The valet stand isn’t. There are a couple of guys, not in uniform, who appear to be engaging in the parking of cars when they aren’t carting luggage to rooms, but there’s no real order to the process.
“I asked the general manager to run a Hotelligence report. She had no idea what I was talking about.” Paul referred to the subscription service that allowed management to compare their hotel rates and sales numbers with comparable properties in their market. He shuddered and continued his litany. “There are no dedicated voicemail lines in the rooms, so the front desk clerk takes phone messages for guests, in between making dinner reservations, and writes them down.” The last three words were delivered with heavy emphasis, conveying Paul’s utter disbelief that such an archaic system existed anywhere in the world.
When Paul finished, Ainsley homed in on the one hopeful thing he said. “At first glance?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Paul answered. “All those things, and more, need to be fixed, but the place has a certain allure. The former owner’s wife still makes amazing homemade pies for the restaurant and apparently, they are highly sought after by locals and tourists alike. And the restaurant itself offers a, let’s call it simple, menu of local favorites.”
“Who’s the chef?”
“Well, there really isn’t a chef per se. More like a group of cooks who take turns working shifts. They all work from old family recipes that feature local favorites.”
Ainsley gasped. Steel Hotels were known for their five-star restaurants. Knowing Frank and his tastes, she had never even considered having to deal with replacing what sounded like a diner. Ainsley appreciated culinary expertise, but she didn’t give much thought to its origin. The idea of having to build a culinary masterpiece from the ground up wasn’t the least bit appealing. She knew from travel literature that Santa Fe was host to many five-star restaurants, but it sounded like the restaurant at the Lancer was more like one of those local dives Tray mentioned. No doubt, with the Steel reputation as backing, they could steal a chef away from one of the finer dining establishments in town. She made her first command decision. “Paul, you’re in charge of the restaurant. I’ll clean up the rest of the place.”
*
The ranch looked exactly as Greer remembered, but the warm fuzzy feeling she felt at the prospect of nestling into the familiar frosted over the moment she walked through the front door.
Aunt Ellen was in her usual place, the sprawling kitchen, rolling out dough for one of her famous pies. She was wearing an apron and was covered in flour. Her hair poked out in all directions, defying her bandana’s efforts to tame her unruly waves. What really threw Greer for a
loop was the state of the kitchen itself. Half of the bright copper pans that normally hung from the ceiling were off their hooks and scattered in various states of disarray on the granite countertops. A large trash can was bursting with garbage and streaked with stains. Used dishcloths lay in a heap in the floor. Greer glanced around, looking for the aliens who had obviously invaded her aunt’s orderly home. What she saw made her stomach clench.
“Hi, Drew, sorry you had to work late. Did you bring home a new friend from work?” Greer knew the man speaking to Drew was her uncle because she was in his house, but if she had seen him out of the context of this environment, she would’ve sworn the frail man in the La-Z-Boy was a sickly stranger. She looked back over her shoulder at Drew, half pissed she’d been given no warning before they arrived at the house. Drew shrugged and shot a reproachful look back at her.
Greer strode over to her uncle and extended her hand in welcome, but his eyes were hazy with confusion. She realized he didn’t realize who she was. Proximity revealed even more disturbing facts. Thin plastic tubing snaked from each nostril. Clayton was breathing with the aid of an oxygen tank. The sight of the apparatus heightened her awareness of his frailty, and she found herself trying to balance her weight so she wouldn’t fall into his lap. She was certain she would crush his birdlike legs if she did. Except for his gentle smile, the man in the chair bore no resemblance to the robust and hearty Clayton Lancer she remembered from her youth. The man she remembered would grab her up like a sack of potatoes and run across the yard with her dangling over his shoulder while she squealed with delight. The man she remembered could carry a newborn calf from the barn to show the kids the wonder of new birth. The man she remembered could do anything. This was not the man Greer remembered, and she wanted to burst into tears at the realization. She had traveled all this way to find refuge in the familiar, and it did not exist.
“Drew, why didn’t you tell us you were bringing a friend home?”
Greer nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice from behind her. Before she could recover, Aunt Ellen extended a flour-covered hand in welcome. She looked for Drew over her aunt’s shoulder, but Drew was on her way out of the room. She’d have to sort through the changes in the Lancer household on her own.
“Uncle Clayton, Aunt Ellen, it’s me, Greer.” She watched their puzzled looks for a few seconds before she thought to pull the flaming red wig from her head. Within seconds she found herself wrapped in Aunt Ellen’s flour-covered arms. “It was a spur-of-the-moment trip,” Greer said. She extricated herself from the tight embrace and motioned at the couch. After they settled in, Greer took a deep breath to steel herself for the story she was about to tell.
“I assume you’ve heard what happened in Chicago?”
Aunt Ellen spoke up first. “You know we don’t pay attention to idle gossip.” She looked like she had more to say, but Clayton put his hand on her arm and motioned for her to stop.
“Ellen, let the girl talk.” He gave Greer a long, hard look. “We read the papers, but if you have something to say, of course we’d rather hear it directly from you.”
Greer screwed up her courage and told them about Macy’s death. Other than a couple of random headlines and the snip of footage she’d seen at the diner, she had no idea what the media was saying about her involvement. She could only imagine the worst. The version she told was more gloss than detail. Clayton and Ellen didn’t need to know everything, she reasoned. They wouldn’t understand her explanation of how drugs were a necessary fixture in her business, and she didn’t bother contributing details about her role in Macy’s first drug experience. “I guess Macy was not the sweet, innocent girl everyone thought she was.” The words fell easily from her lips as she wrapped her mind around their purported truth.
“Well, considering everything, you should probably stay with us for a while.” Clayton was the first to speak. “No one knows you’re here, right?”
Greer pointed at her carrot-top wig and shrugged. “Would you have recognized me if I hadn’t told you who I was?”
“Eventually,” Clayton answered with a grin.
Ellen reached out to grab a strand of Greer’s wig. “I think we’re going to need to work on your look,” she said. “Maybe Drew could take you out in the morning to pick out some hair color.”
Greer nodded. She needed to do something, but the thought of asking Drew for help wasn’t appealing. Something was stuck in Drew’s craw, and Greer wasn’t sure what it was. She’d have to figure it out soon, because she needed some help and some answers. Something was very, very wrong with Uncle Clayton, but she didn’t feel comfortable asking him about it directly. She told her aunt and uncle she was exhausted and headed upstairs to get some answers.
*
Ainsley was relieved to finally have the suite to herself. She foraged in the minibar and located a tiny bottle of Grey Goose. She added a lime from the buffet remnants and a glass of ice and sipped the cool, smooth vodka while reviewing her notes. Tomorrow would be a busy day. She planned to hit the hotel early and take it by storm. She had a breakfast meeting planned with the general manager, Drew Lancer. Ainsley knew she needed to act quickly to have the upper hand. She had to make it clear to Drew it didn’t matter if her last name matched the hotel’s, the Lancer Hotel was now a Steel Property and therefore Ainsley’s to run as she saw fit. Ainsley poured herself another drink to take the edge off. As she leaned back against the soft, silky pillows, her mind wandered to the soft, silky lips of Tray Cardon. The brief and surprising kiss on the plane had left an indelible impression despite the apparent brush-off Tray had given her at the rail yard. As the flush of vodka warmed her, she imagined how much heat could be generated by a longer embrace with the intriguing stranger.
*
Drew must have been asleep when Greer headed upstairs the night before. She had either not heard or ignored Greer’s loud knocks on her door. But the early light of dawn and a grouchy Drew roused Greer from the few hours of sleep she had managed to grab. Her thoughts had been full of worry about her future and distracting visions of the gorgeous Ainsley Faraday and musings about where she was and what she was doing. The tiny amount of sleep she had managed to get wasn’t enough to fortify her for dealing with Drew’s mood.
“Get up. I have to be in town early, and Mom wants me to take you so you can get some things.”
Greer focused her sleepy eyes at the form standing in her doorway. Drew was showered and dressed, and was tapping her foot. “What time is it?”
“Time to head out,” Drew snapped. “I’ll be downstairs waiting. You have five minutes.”
Greer used at least two of the allotted minutes trying to wake up. When she finally crawled out from under the covers she found a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt sitting at the end of the bed. She hurried to get dressed and pulled on her wig. She walked into the adjoining bathroom. She had removed the colored contacts Ethan had given her, but she’d had nowhere to put them so she’d wrapped them in a Kleenex. Now they were stuck to the thin paper and she didn’t have the time or the supplies to get them back into her eyes. She’d have to risk showing her deep blue eyes until she could buy some contact solution. The wig looked like rats had nested in it, but it would have to do for now. She tugged it until she was satisfied it wouldn’t look any better and then headed downstairs to meet up with her impatient cousin.
The ride to town was full of tension. Drew obviously didn’t feel like speaking, and the only sound in the car was Greer’s stomach grumbling. Greer finally decided if she was going to find out what was going on at the Lancer household, she was going to have to ask. She dove into the subject concerning her the most.
“What’s wrong with Uncle Clayton?”
“He’s sick.”
“Thanks. You’re such a fountain of information. I can tell he’s sick. Mind telling me what exactly is wrong with him?” Greer was pissed at Drew’s palpable anger. She had her own problems. She didn’t need to deal with Drew’s pissy self.
“Well, it’s hard to find time to visit relatives when I spend all my time lying around eating bonbons.”
“Don’t be an ass. I know you’re busy. Hell, it must take all your time to get on the front page of every rag at the check-out stand. I imagine being the center of the world’s negative attention is a pretty time-consuming job.”
“Fuck you, Drew. Fuck you,” Greer shouted. Drew didn’t reply other than to shoot daggers her way. Greer took a deep breath. Fighting with Drew wasn’t going to get her any information. She didn’t know what had gotten Drew so worked up, but she did know something was going on at the Lancer ranch and she was suddenly desperate to know what it was. If she had to suck up to her angry cousin to get information, she would do it. No matter what the rags said, Greer Davis knew how to work her public. She took advantage of the red light to plead her case.
“I’m sorry. I know I barged in on your life, and I realize I haven’t been around the last few years. But Clayton looks awful, and I’ve never seen Ellen let the house get so out of order. I know something’s wrong. Please tell me what’s going on.” The last few words were delivered in her best wheedling tone. She could see Drew’s shoulders relax slightly.
“Dad sold the hotel.” Drew paused and then delivered the real news. “He has cancer.”
Greer hadn’t even begun to digest the news about the hotel when Drew’s other pronouncement socked her in the gut. Thinking she couldn’t have heard her correctly, she grabbed Drew’s arm. “What did you say?”