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Contents:
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Chapter 1
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"Mr. Halford will see you now, Mr. McGrath." The smoothly polite tone of Miss Phyllis York, Arthur Halford's secretary, was perfunctory and correct, betraying not a hint of distaste or disapproval.
But Garrett McGrath did not rely solely on what he saw and heard. He had the instincts of a street fighter, acquired from growing up in a series of tough neighborhoods. Those instincts had proven to be an invaluable gift that had always served him well. And though he was no longer fighting in the streets, he'd adapted his instincts to his chosen trade, the hotel business. Sometimes the two had a lot in common.
He'd learned early that smiling faces too often masked hostility and contempt, and Garrett sensed both behind the proper Miss York's professional facade. Rather than resent it, Garrett admired the secretary's loyalty to her boss and to her place of employment—the exclusive, exalted, five-diamond, five-star resort, Halford House. He valued loyalty, however misplaced.
And he knew that to Miss York, a longtime Halford House employee, he was probably about as welcome as a degenerative disease. The name McGrath was anathema to Arthur Halford and his brethren at the high-end of the hotel industry, for the McGraths owned Family Fun Inns, a chain of budget motels at the lowest end of the scale. The premier hoteliers' usual policy of ignoring cheap motels for the masses had been severely challenged by Family Fun Inns, a wildly successful, recession-proof company that refused to be overlooked.
Family Fun Inns had a way of appearing in prime locations dominated exclusively by luxuriously elite resort hotels. The sight of the colorful motels, which resembled a crayon box with each door painted a different brilliant shade, inevitably evoked outraged squawks from high-end resort owners and their patrons. "A lethal weed choking the orchid" was the analogy the apoplectic Blue Springs Resort had issued when a Family Fun Inn joined them on their previously private island.
Garrett McGrath, chief weed, had built his career on encroaching among the orchids over and over again.
He'd worked hard in the beginning—eighteen-hour days, wheeling, dealing, planning, convincing, conniving—and his efforts had been very well rewarded. But lately, success had become too easy. Garrett recognized that he was bored, that he needed a challenge, something different.
Today was certainly providing it. Here he was, Garrett McGrath, commander in chief of the Family Fun Inns, being ushered into the plush executive office suite of the legendary Halford House, hallowed vacation spot of the rich and famous and those who were willing to pay the exorbitant fees to be near them.
His father would've loved it, thought Garrett. It amused him to speculate that perhaps the late Jack McGrath had a hand in it all from somewhere in the Great Beyond. The McGraths had a streak of mysticism mingled with a wicked humor, and this situation was rich in both. Garrett McGrath was here to buy Halford House, the very place that had refused to hire Jack and Kate McGrath as wait staff all those years ago because they weren't considered worthy enough to serve the exalted patrons.
And Garrett was savoring every minute of it.
Obviously Arthur Halford, one of the most urbane and patrician hoteliers in the business, was not. The older man's smile was decidedly forced and his expression became downright pained as he shook the hand that Garrett offered him. The steadfast Miss York hovered in the background, fixing Garrett with a look colder than ice.
"Today's the day, Art," Garrett said genially. "You have some papers ready for me to sign?"
"Mr. McGrath, I thought perhaps we would have lunch first, then meet with our attorneys for a final…" Arthur Halford paused and swallowed hard. "Perusal of the contract. Upon the—" this time he cleared his throat "—signing, I would like to invite you to join me in a celebratory glass of cognac."
Cognac. Garrett's eyes gleamed. He'd bet anything that Halford would rather serve him a shot of battery acid. Offering a celebratory drink of cognac was a nice touch. Classy. He'd have to keep that one in mind.
"I'd like to have lunch with you, Art, but do we really need the lawyers around? I didn't bring mine. Besides, they've already picked apart the deal word for word. My general counsel can recite the terms by heart. I assume there haven't been any changes since…" Garrett paused and stared hard at Arthur Halford.
The older man's face was flushed, his gaze darting frantically in an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact with Garrett. What a terrible poker player Halford must be, mused Garrett—the required blank poker face, giving away nothing, was clearly beyond him. Old Art had just given away everything, particularly himself. The vigilant Miss York looked alarmed.
"I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that there have been some changes," Garrett said flatly.
"Well, perhaps, but not exactly. Actually, y-you see—" stammered Halford.
"Don't try any whitewashing or stonewalling, just give me the cold, hard facts." Garrett's smile abruptly disappeared. He could be charming when he chose, but the hint of a double cross brought his fighting spirit to the fore. "What's going on, Halford?"
"Mr. Halford to you, Mr. McGrath," Miss York said imperiously, glowering at him like a dragon protecting the castle. "I'm mercifully unaware of the milieu in which you normally conduct your business, but here at Halford House we do not use first names, as if in the schoolroom, nor just last names, as if in a locker room. In the executive suite, we use the correct form of address and until this company changes hands—" she shuddered visibly at the thought "—we will continue to honor our traditions."
"Miss York, please," Halford said weakly. "It's all right." He looked bleakly at Garrett. "Mr. McGrath, I hope you will forgive my secretary for—"
"Forgive Miss York? I salute her! She's a dynamo. In fact, if you want to stay on here in your current position, Miss York, the job is yours." Garrett grinned, his good humor temporarily restored. Only Grandmother McGrath in her prime had ever dared to chew him out so effectively. A warm memory of the stone-faced old woman with the heart of granite suffused him. Good old Gran! He actually missed her sharp-tongued harangues, which had ceased since she'd decided to be fond of her eldest grandson.
"No, thank you." Miss York scowled, her disapproval unconcealed. "As soon as your team is in place, I'm retiring and that's final, Mr. McGrath."
"Too bad. I don't suppose you have a sister at home just like you? No?" Garrett shrugged. "Well, I hope you enjoy your retirement, Miss York. I'm sure it's well earned, and if you're ever in the vicinity of a Family Fun Inn, I want to offer you a discount to stay there as a personal friend of the McGrath family."
He reached into the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out one of his business cards to hand to her. "Just show them this. Discount guaranteed."
Miss York stared incredulously at the card.
"Miss York, if you'll excuse us, I have a personal matter to discuss with Mr. McGrath," Arthur Halford said in that cultured, well-modulated tone of his.
Miss York wordlessly withdrew. Garrett was heartened that she hadn't ripped his card to shreds and flung the pieces into the trashcan. Instead, she'd tucked it into the pocket of her suit coat as she'd closed the office door behind her.
Garrett smiled. He'd bet this entire Halford House deal that Miss York would take him up on the discount and stay in a Family Fun Inn. And she'd like it, too, especially the oh-so-affordable prices. Another convert would be made. His grin broadened. There was nothing he liked better than winning, be it an argument, a court fight, a business deal, or merely changing someone's mind in his favor.
Which brought him back to this moment in time. It sounded ominously like Arthur Halford had changed his mind—but not in t
he McGraths' favor. Garrett straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes and assumed his take-charge, take-over, high-testosterone stance.
Nobody backed out on a deal with the McGraths. This was war. "I want to know what's suddenly gone sour with the deal, Art," he said with all the conviviality of a rattlesnake.
The suave and seasoned Arthur Halford seemed to dissolve in front of Garrett's very eyes. The older man sank down onto the forest green leather sofa, running a nervous hand through his thick silver hair. "My daughter!" he exclaimed miserably. "She's back! That's what's gone sour with the deal."
Garrett stared at him. "What does your daughter have to do with this? And where is she back from? Outer space? Prison?"
"California!" Halford practically wailed.
Garrett was genuinely nonplussed. "Excuse me, Art, but I don't get it. You're sitting here losing it because your daughter is back from California?"
"If you knew Shelby, you'd lose it, too," Halford intoned glumly. He was using vernacular he'd never used before, but somehow it fit. "And when she learns that I'm selling Halford House…" His voice trailed off, as if the consequences were too dire to voice.
Garrett was suddenly back on sure ground. "She's sentimental about the place, huh?" He sat down beside Halford. "Hey, let me talk to her. I have five younger sisters, I know something about explaining things to females. There might be a few tears but—"
"Tears? Ha! Shelby doesn't cry! I don't remember her ever crying, not even as an infant. She decides what she wants and she goes for it, and God help the person who tries to stand in her way. She has all the subtlety and tact of a nuclear missile." Arthur Halford shook his head. "She's as different from our Laney as a … a jackal is from a winsome little Yorkshire terrier. Laney has two, you know. Yorkies. She adores them." A fond, paternal smile momentarily brightened his face.
Garrett studied him curiously. He'd heard people compared to explosives—he'd even used the ticking-time-bomb reference himself—but he had never before heard a father describe his daughter as a jackal. In fact, as angry as Garrett had sometimes gotten at his younger sisters—and they could rile him plenty—he had never thought of them as jackals. Brats, maybe. Pests, perhaps. But nothing bestial.
He tried to get a mental picture of Shelby Halford but the only image that flashed to mind was one of snarling, sharp teeth and wild, beady eyes. Still, a deal was a deal, and he wanted the challenge and the prestige of adding a place like Halford House to the Family Fun Inn company. It would be the crown jewel in the rock-bottom budget chain, and he wasn't about to let some spoiled Halford brat ruin his plans. Even if she was a jackal.
Before he could speak, Arthur Halford rose to his feet and began to pace the floor of the office, clearly agitated. "Shelby has some hotel experience, you see. She majored in hotel management in college and has been working in California. For the past several years, our relationship has actually been quite excellent with us living on opposite sides of the country. But just last week she called to announce that she was moving back here to Florida."
"To work in the family business," Garrett concluded. "And you neglected to mention to her that you were selling Halford House."
"You've got it in one," said Halford gloomily. "You'll remember that we agreed to keep the deal secret until the papers were signed and the press release issued. I've told no one but my wife. So when Shelby called…" He shook his head and groaned. "Shelby has a way of dominating conversations. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she'd already told me she had quit her job, given up her apartment, and scheduled the movers. She gave me her date of arrival here in Port Key and told me she was ready to begin working here with me—as a prelude to taking over Halford House when I retire."
"And now she's here and you still haven't told her?"
Halford shook his head. "No, I still haven't told her. I … need more time. I have attempted to set the stage and ease into the subject, however."
"And how have you done that?" Garrett asked. Sophisticated, polished types like Halford interested him. He'd learned from experience that they were not pushovers, yet they did their back stabbing with such style. Garrett was the first to admit that he lacked deceptive subtlety; he was blunt, forceful and open. According to his mother, he'd been that way since he had first opened his eyes in the delivery room.
"I regret that my, er, explanation is a bit unorthodox." Arthur Halford appeared acutely embarrassed. "And so very, very difficult to explain, Mr. McGrath."
"This is going to be a good one," Garrett guessed, enjoying the anticipation. "Come on, Art. Spill it. What have you told Neutron Shelby about Halford House?"
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"It's so wonderful to be home!" Shelby Halford exclaimed exuberantly, striding briskly through the lush gardens of the Halford House grounds. She nodded and smiled at some hotel guests who were enjoying a morning stroll along the meticulously maintained crushed gravel paths.
"Shelby, will you please slow down?" her younger sister Laney complained, half running to keep up with Shelby's long-legged stride. "The puppies are exhausted."
Shelby cast a disparaging eye at Laney's pair of five-year-old overfed, overweight Yorkshire terriers, who were panting from the exertion of their walk. "If they had more exercise and a lot less food, a short walk wouldn't wind them," she noted. "You simply have to put those dogs on a diet, Laney. It's for their own good. As it is, you're feeding them into an early grave."
"Stop it, Shelby!" Laney's velvety dark eyes filled with tears. "You can be so cruel—threatening my puppies with death when you know they mean the world to me." She turned to the tall, nattily dressed blond man who was walking slightly behind them. "Do you like animals, Paul?" she asked, dimpling prettily.
Paul gazed at her, seemingly mesmerized. His reaction surprised neither sister; people had been stopping dead in their tracks to stare at Laney Halford since she'd been a toddler. Paul had been gazing at her continuously since he'd arrived at Halford House last week.
Shelby viewed her sister more dispassionately. Laney was a classic beauty, a striking combination of Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind and Liz Taylor in Ivanhoe—except with enormous dark brown eyes. Everybody always said that Laney should be in movies, too, she was that beautiful. Laney always sweetly demurred; she didn't want a career in anything, she'd claim. All she ever wanted was to be a good wife and mother—Shelby was the one who wanted to work. The way Laney said it made people look askance at Shelby, as if she were against 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?" Laney said sweetly.
Shelby swallowed and straightened her shoulders. "Yes. Just like old times."
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