by Anne Rainey
Ric was a realist. He prided himself on the fact. No one knew his private excitement to meet another family member—his mom’s mother.
He’s barely slept a wink last night. When he had, it had been fil ed with heaving stories about his mom, stories that would bring him closer to the woman who died giving him life. He would soon know more about the woman he’d been clinging to during the first few hours of his life.
Anyone would think him weak with thoughts like that. Ric had been clear and to the point with the Karakas and Samantha Winston, his grandparents, concerning this meeting today. He wanted this meeting to discuss a business venture—the bed-and-breakfast. Samantha would hear the details in person. The Karakas already knew, and they thought he was crazy. Samantha wouldn’t think he was crazy. She was a very successful businesswoman.
Ric had done the right thing, keeping the letters between him and Samantha business related. His mom’s mother spoke the language of big business. Ric couldn’t wait to meet her. He knew he got his ability to turn a dol ar from her.
Pedro Karaka climbed out from the driver’s side of his Buick and patted Colby’s head as he walked around the front of the car, then opened the door for his wife, Alicia.
“Ricardo!” Alicia Karaka extended her arms, greeting Ric as if it were the first time they’d seen each other and not less than twenty-four hours since he’d been at their place on the other side of the island. “So today you take on the Winstons,” she said, not waiting a minute before jumping into her reason for being there. “You remember what we told you last night, your grandfather and I. These are not good people. Keep your head high and remember you are a Karaka, good blood and good people.” She reached him and clasped his face, squeezing it with her damp, arthritic hands as she grinned up at him.
“I’m half Winston, too,” he reminded her, smiling down at her leathery face and twinkling dark eyes. There weren’t many people on this planet capable of giving unconditional love so easily. Alicia Karaka was one of them.
“And half Karaka, which is why I’m not worried one bit,” she said, laughing and giving his head a little shake before releasing him. “Now, what are you going to say?”
“Mother,” Pedro Karaka complained under his breath, giving her a hard side glance before shifting his attention to Ric and looking apologetic.
“Shhh, shhh.” Alicia didn’t look at her husband but waved her hand at him dismissively.
Pedro ignored the gesture and the command to be quiet. “We came to wish him the best of luck,” he said, sounding as if it weren’t the first time he’d reminded his wife why they were stopping by Ric’s place unannounced.
Another day Ric might have been amused. Alicia and Pedro were good people. Some might even claim he was blessed to have them as grandparents. But Ric saw them as a repeated reminder as to why he would never get married; why he’d quit the dream of his childhood to be a good father and husband someday. They spoke over each other, interrupted each other, and went off on tangents, losing focus as to what they were original y talking about.
Ric wouldn’t ever get stuck in a mess like that. His grandparents had spent a lifetime together and had nothing to show for it. They were broke and lived in a shack.
“Of course we wish you good luck.” Alicia ignored Colby when the dog walked between her and Ric. “And we want you to know how proud your papa would be if he were alive today.”
Ric had heard a lot of that since he’d moved to the island almost a year ago. It wasn’t the easiest thing for him to wrap his brain around. If Ric got his practicality from his father, then his dad wouldn’t be proud until Ric accomplished his goals. He was simply moving forward, securing his success and his roots into place.
“Thank you, Grandmother.” There wasn’t anything else to say. When she simply beamed up at him, Ric leaned forward and gave her a gentle hug.
Alicia wasn’t going to have anything to do with that. She wrapped her arms around Ric and held on as if her life depended on it. His grandfather, Pedro, nodded as he watched his wife.
“Give us a cal when you get home,” he said, apparently deciding his wife had clung to Ric long enough and slowly began peeling her away from him. “Your grandmother wil worry until you do.”
Alicia made a clucking sound as she swiped her hand at Pedro, as if she would hit him several times for suggesting such a thing. A simple sidestep on his part and he avoided her efforts. She continued waving Pedro off as she turned to the car.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Pedro asked, turning from his wife and pul ing on his multicolored shirt. Once, the old man probably had hair as black and thick as Ric’s, but strong streaks of silver dominated it now.
Pedro asked as if there were other options. Ric wanted to tel him this was standard practice in business. A venture this size didn’t get off the ground without financing. He could go to the bank and take out another loan, hopeful y. But he’d only paid a year on his mortgage so far, and as it was, the money he’d saved was quickly dwindling. If Samantha Winston financed this project, once the bed-and-breakfast was up and running, he’d be able to pay off the mortgage and pay her back with money left to live on. He’d crunched the numbers enough times to have them memorized.
“Everything wil be fine.” It was a line he’d learned from the foster mother he’d had through part of grade school. “Don’t worry,” he added.
Then, again not sure what to do, he extended his hand. “I’l cal you two once I’m done.”
Pedro was old-school, and stubborn as hel . No one could get the old man to see any viewpoint other than his own. More than once, Ric had explained why he was approaching Samantha Winston. He had no clue how Pedro ran his farm for al the years he did when he appeared to be so staunchly against borrowing money. And God forbid the old man understand a line of credit.
“You would think after a year you’d understand the concept of family, boy,” Pedro said, ignoring the extended hand and instead taking Ric by the arm and walking with him toward the driver’s side of the car. “Sometimes I think you got every lick of stubbornness your grandmother could pass down through her blood. We’re going to worry. We’re going to support you. And we’re going to ask questions and butt our heads into your business on a very regular basis. I’ve been over this with you. Your grandmother is living proof of this.”
Ric watched Colby as she circled around Pedro, sniffing his pockets with each turn. Pedro absently stroked the dog’s head but kept his stern, watery gaze on Ric. He wouldn’t admit Pedro had a point, especial y when it wasn’t the issue at the moment. He wanted Pedro to understand business, and Pedro wanted him to understand the concept of family, something Ric had never had prior to a year ago and what many people didn’t seem to give the same value to, at least as far as he’d seen. Ric stood a better chance of explaining business to his grandfather than the other way around.
“I understand,” he lied, and the look Pedro gave him proved he saw through the lie. Ric patted his grandfather on the shoulder and held the
“I understand,” he lied, and the look Pedro gave him proved he saw through the lie. Ric patted his grandfather on the shoulder and held the car door while Pedro got in. The old man slid a large piece of jerky out of his pants pocket and tossed it to Colby. “I’l be sure and let both of you know how things went as soon as I’m done visiting with her.”
“Don’t make it al about business, boy,” his grandfather said, wagging his finger at Ric. “Take time to know your blood.”
Pedro and Alicia Karaka backed out of Ric’s driveway, the old man taking it at a snail’s pace. Ric waved after them for a moment, then turned to his dog, who was on the trail of some rodent and already heading across the field where neglected banana trees and rows of pineapple bushes grew.
“You ready, Colby?” he yel ed.
Colby bayed loudly, one of her ears inside out, as she gave up on her hunt and came bounding toward Ric’s truck. She pranced around in circles until Ric opened the passe
nger door for her. She leaped into the seat and immediately sat facing forward without giving him a second glance.
“Al right, girl,” Ric informed Colby as he climbed in, then revved the engine. “You’re going to chil in the truck while I tend to some business.
You know the dril .”
Her response was to lean forward and sniff the glove box where her bone was kept, a reward for not chewing on his upholstery when Ric left her in the truck. He waited until his grandparents had pul ed out onto the road, then made a U-turn in the driveway and headed for town.
Joe Seal, whom Ric had met right after moving to the island, moonlighted as a bel hop at the Four Seasons at Manela Bay, one of the two hotels on the island. He had his eyes open for Samantha Winston’s arrival. Joe had cal ed Ric the night before and confirmed that the Samantha Winston party had arrived as scheduled and, it appeared, with more servants than usual. Ric guessed she might have quite an entourage with her. This was the half of his family that was loaded.
Not that he had any desire to drain her dry. And he expected her to be wary, to not trust him, and to anticipate that he wanted her money. His story was too stereotypical. Long-lost relative shows up on the doorstep looking for handouts. It would be what he would think if the tables were turned. No one had ever given him a handout his entire life. Not so much as a meal. And that wasn’t what he was asking for now. Corporations like Winston Enterprises invested their money in smal er companies al the time. No, Ric wasn’t after a free ride.
Ric had given the old woman time to relax after her flight. Now it was time for her to know her grandson. He stil would want to meet her even if he didn’t need her to invest in his new business. And, truth be told, he admitted to himself as he gripped and released the steering wheel and realized he was already in town and hadn’t even turned on the stereo, he would have been a hel of a lot more nervous meeting her if it weren’t for his business plans. The banana plantation kept him focused, helped his mind stay where it belonged—on sensible, levelheaded matters.
Otherwise, he’d be stepping into unfamiliar territory, which was not something he liked doing.
Although somewhere around eighty years old, Samantha Winston stil had an active hand in the huge line of restaurants and hotels her family owned around the world. She was owner and CEO of Winston Corporation. Shortly after arriving on the island and meeting his grandparents and uncles, Ric had learned enough about his mother’s side of the family to start researching. It hadn’t been hard tracking down Samantha Winston. She owned several homes, and he learned from reading tabloids and People magazine, which did an extensive piece on her almost five years ago, that she lived in Minneapolis during the summer, Houston during the winter, New York during the spring, and Los Angeles in the fal . None of that appealed to him as much as studying her business portfolio. In her earlier years, Samantha Winston had taken her father’s business and quadrupled its value.
A woman after his own heart.
Ric knew the moment he explained his plans to her, she would be more than wil ing to invest in him. He didn’t need to play the long-lost relative. There was no point. He would speak as a shrewd businessman spoke to another shrewd businessperson.
Ric wasn’t an idiot. The bed-and-breakfast would make it. Samantha understood business, and she’d see what Ric saw—the perfect business in the ideal location.
The Four Seasons, which was one of two hotels on the island, was designed for the very wealthy. He’d grown used to the flashiness of the rich and famous, as wel as the recluses, who were probably even wealthier and who came to Lanai to escape the paparazzi and other invasions of their privacy. He pul ed into the hotel parking lot as a Rol s-Royce pul ed out.
Ric waved at Joe Seal, who stood in his black hotel uniform in the parking lot, talking to a kid Ric didn’t know. Ric parked his truck off to the side of the parking lot, opened the glove box, and took out the massive rawhide bone he’d purchased the day before after Colby had finished off her last one.
“Try and make this one last at least until I get back,” he said, handing the bone over to Colby.
She accepted her bribe not to eat the truck’s interior and looked at him with her jowls sticking out over the bone. Colby winked at him. Good enough answer, he hoped.
“Be good,” he ordered, lowering both windows a few inches to give Colby fresh air, then hopped out of his truck, locked it, and headed across the parking lot toward Joe.
“Slow morning?” he asked, extending his hand and shaking Joe’s.
“It’s been off and on. The morning tourists are already out and about the island. It won’t pick up again until this afternoon.” Joe gave Ric an appraising look and rocked back on his heels. “So you’re here to meet the old lady?” Joe asked, fal ing in alongside Ric as they started toward the entrance. “Your grandmother, huh?”
“It’s time for her to get to know her charming grandson.” Ric wasn’t ready to announce his intentions of trying to get her to finance converting the old banana plantation into a bed-and-breakfast.
“Wel , she hasn’t left the hotel today. I haven’t seen her, but hope to. She’s a good tipper.” Joe grinned and scratched his short dark brown hair. He was a big guy, stocky but not heavy, and shorter than Ric. He was tan from working with his father-in-law and was, according to his wife, Susie, quite the stud. Ric didn’t see it but wouldn’t argue with Susie. “Fil me in on al the details later. If I don’t go home with some kind of tidbit for my wife, she’l drown me with questions until she makes me cal and ask for a total recap.”
Ric snorted, knowing Joe wasn’t exaggerating. The couple times Ric had been over to Joe’s house, Susie had spent the entire time on the phone talking to someone about how she was not a gossip. “I’m sure I’l see you when I leave. You’l have to bring the kids out to the place when you get some time off.”
“Whenever that might be,” Joe grumbled, although he didn’t look put out and rocked back on his heels again. Work was hard to find. Joe wouldn’t complain about too many hours. “Let me know when you’re ready to reroof that old house. I can’t believe you’re living out there the way it is now.”
“I manage, and wil do. Hopeful y soon.” He’d heard enough comments about his choice to live in the dilapidated plantation house. He was saving money by not paying a second mortgage or rent. Not to mention by living there he had discovered other things that needed fixing that he might not have noticed until after he’d opened his doors for business.
Ric waved at Joe over his shoulder as he strol ed into the lobby. He had only been in the hotel a couple times, the last time to help lay carpet with a job he got with Joe several months ago. Just as the last time, Ric entered a different world as he walked across the lobby. He didn’t want to be impressed, but breathtaking was the best way to describe the hotel. Although most of Lanai was breathtaking. After living in the inner city of Los Angeles al his life, he’d seen enough ugliness. Beauty, whether it be skin deep or to the bone, surrounding him every day sure made life seem a lot easier. It was a good thing Ric understood that anything that appeared easy was usual y a hel of a lot harder than something that appeared complicated.
Melinda Sadey worked the front desk and had her eyes on Ric the moment he had arrived on the island. Although he’d flirted with her on a few occasions when he’d been to the bars, she wasn’t his type. Melinda was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five years old and preferred her men a bit on the younger side. Ric had no intention of ever touching the woman but didn’t mind casual y flirting until she gave him the room numbers of the three rooms booked under Samantha Winston.
Room 201 was a large suite and reserved with very specific instructions. The other two rooms, 211 and 213, were smal er suites alongside each other down the hal from Samantha’s room. Ric didn’t care to speak with her entourage. He got out of the elevator on the second floor and walked to the end of the hal way to the large suite, then rapped firmly on the door.
After knocking a second t
ime, Ric reluctantly approached the two other doors. He didn’t want to speak to hired help, but possibly Samantha was in one of the rooms. He stepped to the nearest of the two and again knocked.
A thin, short-haired man, who was probably in his forties, answered the door at room 213. He didn’t say anything but simply stared at Ric, as if it wasn’t his job to speak and therefore he had no intention of doing so.
“Are you Marc Waters?” Ric asked, and knew by the wary look the man gave him that he was. “I’m here to see Samantha Winston,” he added before Marc could say anything.
“That’s not possible.” Marc cocked his head and made it look like he was trying to look down at Ric. His tone was rather nasal y, stuck-up sounding. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I just told you what I want,” Ric said, keeping his own tone civil in spite of the urge to push past the man and see if Samantha was in the room. “And I’m Ricardo Karaka, her grandson.”
Marc made a snorting noise and began shutting the door. “Nice try, but Ms. Winston doesn’t have a grandson. If she did, I would know.”
“I am her grandson.” Ric didn’t like doors being shut in his face. He held his hand out, stopping the door. “Her daughter was my mother.”
“Ms. Winston’s daughter is dead.”
“I know. I kil ed her.”
Marc Waters stared at Ric, apparently not having a snooty comeback for that comment. Ric cringed inwardly, aware of the possibility that Ms.
Winston might very wel be in the room, listening to the conversation. It wouldn’t surprise Ric, from what he’d learned of the lady’s personality through her letters, that she would screen cal ers, taking advantage of her presence not being known and gathering what she could about them before agreeing to meet them. She had mentioned once in her letters to him that a woman in business had to be ten times more shrewd than a man, and as she’d put it, especial y in her time, when women weren’t involved in business.