FAMILY FEUD

by Barbara Boswell

  "We're always at full occupancy, ma'am," Tony Fontana said politely. "At twenty-nine dollars a night, we get a lot of families with very young children not yet in school. They like the off-season because they can avoid the crowds that go with school vacations. We're popular with retirees, as well, and they tend to travel during both the on and off seasons."

  "We're starting to get some business travelers, too," Garrett added. "They're just beginning to discover us."

  "Can you imagine landing even a small portion of that market?" Tony mused, his expression wistful.

  "Yes, I can imagine it," Garrett replied confidently. "It's going to happen within the next couple years and we'll profit immensely, but we won't lose our commitment to family vacationers."

  Shelby listened absently to the exchange, still stupefied by Fontana's incredible revelation. "Your rooms are twenty-nine dollars a night." She said it aloud. That price didn't even cover the cost of lunch for two at Halford House.

  "All Family Fun Inns are twenty-nine dollars a night, plus tax," Garrett explained. "Except during our discount promotions. Then they're less."

  "But Key West is an expensive area, the costs are higher here for everything than on the mainland. How do you make a profit? How do you stay in business?" demanded Shelby.

  "We have constant, continual occupancy and we keep our overhead costs to the bare minimum," Fontana said proudly. "Having this one room available tonight is a fluke, due to an unexpected cancellation. Tomorrow, we'll be totally booked, as usual."

  "You're doing a terrific job here, Tony," Garrett assured him. "My sisters couldn't stop singing your praises after their visits here. I wanted to get down and see for myself."

  Shelby followed the two men into the manager's office and took a chair farthest from the window, out of range of the sun's glare. She listened as they discussed the company's latest advertising campaign and a new cooperative arrangement between Family Fun Inns and eight different airlines, in which frequent-flier miles were awarded to those guests who stayed in any Family Fun Inn. They talked about a pizza chain that delivered free of charge to the motel rooms and the possibility of working out a similar arrangement with a local burger franchise.

  She got a glimpse of Garrett's management style. He was warm and empowering, objective yet emphatic. And smart, very smart. Garrett McGrath was the man who had built Family Fun Inns into the successful empire it was today. He was the chief executive who kept it running at a profit when so many hotels and motels were floundering for their niche in the recessionary market. He might not dress the part, but he was as shrewd a businessman as any blue blood who vacationed at Halford House.

  "What color is the door of the only available room?" Garrett asked suddenly.

  The question struck Shelby as inane and she almost laughed out loud. She was glad she hadn't when Tony Fontana treated the inquiry with utmost gravity.

  "Green." The manager seemed truly grieved. "Green is always the least requested color and the last to be rented."

  Garrett nodded. "I know. It's the same throughout the chain. Why is the green the least popular? Kind of strange, hmm?" He slanted a glance at Shelby. "Even more strange is that green happens to be the theme color at Halford House. Could there possibly be some paradoxical connection? Why is Halford green a hit and Family Fun green a miss?"

  "A mystery indeed!" Fontana took the question seriously. "Do you think we should do a study?"

  "What's strangest of all is that grown men are pondering the appeal of green doors," Shelby said succinctly. "Who cares?"

  Fontana looked shocked. Garrett merely smiled. "She would drive our marketing team nuts, eh, Tony? Come on, let's show her what one of our rooms looks like."

  Shelby traipsed after them, through the least-popular, least-requested green door into a medium-size bedroom. It was furnished with sturdy, utilitarian furniture and decorated with a plain functional bedspread and matching curtains and rugs. There was an adjacent bathroom, equipped with soap and towels, a plastic ice bucket and drinking glasses. Nothing else. No shampoo or lotion, no shower caps or sewing kit or razors, none of the countless toiletry and grooming items routinely stocked in every Halford House bathroom.

  "We save costs by cutting out everything but the bare essentials," Garrett remarked, as if reading her mind.

  "We do have color TV with cable hookup," Tony Fontana said loyally.

  "Of course." Shelby nodded. "What family could have fun without TV?"

  Tony glanced uncertainly at Garrett, awaiting his reaction. When Garrett chuckled, so did he.

  "She catches on quick, doesn't she, Tony? Think there's a place for her in the organization?"

  Fontana looked so bemused that Shelby took pity on him. "Don't answer that, Tony," she advised. He nodded gratefully.

  According to Garrett, the pride of every Family Fun Inn was its playground, an elaborate, unique park on the grounds of the motel. Along with the usual swings and jungle gyms was original equipment guaranteed to delight the young motel guests, such as a bright green-and-yellow crocodile whose pink tongue was a slide, a playhouse shaped like a castle, a merry-go-ground designed like a spaceship.

  "My sister Fiona's husband, Ray, designs and builds playgrounds," Garrett explained. "Family Fun Inns is his number one client but he has other markets, too—schools and community centers and the like. His company is very successful. Fiona and Ray have two kids, three-year-old twin boys."

  "You can see for yourself how much the children love this playground," Tony Fontana said with proprietary pride.

  "We don't have swimming pools at Family Fun Inns, which cuts maintenance and liability costs, but our playgrounds are first-rate."

  The playground was filled with small children, squealing and laughing under their parents' watchful eyes. "They look so happy," Shelby murmured wistfully, gazing at the cheerful scene.

  Had she ever been as carefree and merry as those bright-eyed children? She doubted it. Her memories of herself as a child were of a serious, driven little girl, compulsive in her need to achieve, distraught and furious with any perceived failure.

  "At Family Fun Inns, our goal is making families happy," Tony Fontana announced proudly.

  "Our corporate motto," Garrett explained. "Well said, Tony."

  Shelby had no snide comeback. These people were haying fun and she didn't begrudge them a moment of it.

  After bidding goodbye to a pleased Tony, Garrett suggested having lunch before heading back to Port Key. Shelby realized at that moment she was starving. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and not much then. She'd been too angry about this enforced trip. But she wasn't angry any longer, she realized.

  "I guess this trip hasn't been as heinous as I thought it would be," she said, as Garrett escorted her into a crowded seafood bar on the Mallory Dock.

  "Such effusive praise," Garrett said dryly. "Careful, it'll go to my head. And as Grandmother McGrath is fond of saying, 'When the head swells, the brain stops working.' She used to repeat it like a litany to me."

  "She considered it her duty to keep you humble? That must have been a full-time job for the poor old woman."

  Garrett laughed. "It used to be. Being the oldest son, I was adored by my parents and I saw no reason to doubt their high opinion of me. Good thing I had Gran to keep me grounded in reality or I might've grown up to be totally insufferable." His tone and his laughing blue eyes were baiting her.

  Shelby couldn't resist the lure. "Instead, you grew up to be merely somewhat insufferable. A modest victory for the ego-busting Grandmother McGrath."

  "Gran has since joined my fan club. When the inns became successful and her stock in the company made her a rich woman, she decided that perhaps I wasn't such an irredeemable hellion, after all. She's currently turned her wrath on my kid brother Brendan. Lucky for him, he goes to school in New Mexico, far away from Buffalo and Gran's laser tongue."

  "He's the latest McGrath irredeemable hellion?" Shelby surmised, amused.

  "I wouldn'
t call him that. He's a college student, a real outgoing kid who—"

  "Translation—Brendan is majoring in partying," Shelby said dryly. "Anytime I heard the family describe Laney and Hal Junior as 'real outgoing kids,' I knew they'd flunked another course."

  Garrett gave his head a rueful shake. "Let's just say that Brendan would rather party and play golf than study. But there is a silver lining in the cloud of his grade-point average. Brendan is an excellent golfer and his goal is to be a golf pro at a club or resort. I can see him fitting in very nicely at—"

  Garrett abruptly broke off and reached for his menu. He'd almost blown it again. Complicated schemes of deceit might be Arthur Halford's forte, but they were not his own.

  "Blue Springs has a wonderful golf course," Shelby said knowingly. "Not quite as good as the one at Halford House but, of course, I'm prejudiced. Is that why you bought the Blue Springs Resort? So your little brother will—"

  "I keep my role as head of the company separate from my role of big brother," Garrett said brusquely. "I would never make a business-decision based on personal reasons. When I acquire property, it's for sound business reasons based on research and a guaranteed profit."

  Shelby eyed him curiously. "I think I hit a nerve."

  He studied his menu intently, as if he were going to be quizzed on the contents.

  "Your usual jokes and smirks seem to be missing when it comes to discussing your recent acquisition of the Blue Springs Resort. But there's no need to be defensive about your foray into the high-end market, Garrett. I think it's sweet that you're so concerned about your little brother's future you would actually buy the Blue—"

  "I am not sweet," Garrett said, frowning forbiddingly at her. "And I'm sick of talking about the Blue Springs Resort. I refuse to discuss it anymore."

  "So if I keep talking about the Blue Springs, you won't talk to me? If I bring up their menu, which incidentally, has slipped drastically in the past couple years, you won't have any response? You'll sit there in stony silence?"

  "I would never be so boorish as to sit in stony silence when there is a beautiful woman seated across the table from me." He flashed a heart-stopping smile. "I'll simply redirect the conversation."

  Shelby felt the impact of his warm blue-eyed gaze deep inside her where tiny hot sparks erupted into a fiery stab of sensual awareness. She was instantly back on her guard. The man was indeed dangerous when his smile evoked such a reaction from her. And he'd called her a beautiful woman. Though she knew she wasn't and was aware that such talk was standard smooth-operator jargon, it was still an effective line. Embarrassingly effective. Laney might take such a remark for granted but it brought a flush of guilty pleasure to Shelby's cheeks.

  "What are you having for lunch?" Garrett asked casually, glancing back at the menu.

  She wouldn't allow him to manipulate her, Shelby decided. And he was not going to redirect the conversation. "The Blue Springs had a marvelous riding stable," she replied instead. "I was always envious of it, but my father hates horses and refused to even consider having stables at Halford House. What are your plans for the Blue Springs stables when you take over the place?"

  "Looks like conch is the main feature on the menu," Garrett remarked, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "Conch chowder, conch salad, conch fritters. What's this—conch ravioli? I think I'll try all of it."

  "When will the sale of the Blue Springs be announced?" Shelby continued her own course of this parallel conversation. "Obviously it's a secret but nothing stays secret in the industry for long."

  "Which only reinforces the crux of my dilemma," Garrett said wryly. "This is a subject that I can't discuss with you in good faith at this particular time, Shelby."

  She didn't know the half of it! He searched for a way to break the news about the sale of Halford House that wouldn't break her heart and send her storming out of his life forever. But he couldn't come up with one. His lips tightened into a frown.

  "Oh, all right, I'll stop asking you for information about the Blue Springs," Shelby conceded with a sigh. "After all, it is your business, not mine."

  "Thank you," Garrett said with genuine relief. The more she quizzed him about the Blue Springs Resort, the sooner she would draw the logical conclusion that he didn't know a thing about the place. And that would certainly alert her suspicions. What kind of businessman bought a property he had zero knowledge of?

  "However, I would like to remind you that you have no compunction about hounding me for facts about Halford House," Shelby stated succinctly.

  "When I seek information, it's hounding, but when you do it, it's merely asking?" Garrett's mouth curved wryly.

  Shelby arched her dark eyebrows. "Since this is your first visit to Key West, by all means indulge in conch. It's the island specialty. I myself am going to have the turtle chowder and blacktip shark."

  "Point taken. We'll move on to a totally neutral topic. The weather. Are those storm clouds gathering off to the south?"

  Shelby glanced out the window, saw the dark clouds in the distance and shrugged. "Afternoon storms often blow in quickly and are over just as fast in the Keys."

  "I hope it does rain, just to get a break from this heat and humidity." Garrett fanned himself with the menu. "It's hard to cool down, even inside."

  Shelby was beyond fanning. She removed her suit jacket, draping it across an empty chair, unfastened another button on her blouse, then undid the cuffs and rolled the sleeves to her elbows.

  Garrett didn't even say "I told you so."

  They had such a good time at lunch—laughing and talking easily together, relaxing and enjoying the delicious food—that Shelby didn't hesitate when Garrett suggested a tour of the town. She was in no real hurry to get back to Halford House because there was nothing there that required her presence this afternoon. She did not take her reasoning one step further—that she was in no hurry at all to end this afternoon with Garrett.

  "But before we go anywhere…" Garrett took her arm and guided her into a large souvenir shop that sold everything from T-shirts, pinwheels, sand buckets and shells to horrid, mummified baby alligators dressed in doll-size clothes.

  Shelby stared at the reptiles in fascinated disgust. "You aren't going to buy one of those?" she asked when Garrett lifted one up to check the price.

  "It's tempting, but this time I'll pass. I'm here for something else." He started toward the back of the shop. "You look around, I'll be with you in a few minutes."

  Shelby wandered through the aisles, awed by the sheer tackiness of some of the merchandise that shared space with practical items like sunscreens, sunglasses and postcards. There was a rack of paperback books, and she was studying the titles when Garrett rejoined her, carrying a paper bag.

  They walked outside. "Here." He handed her the bag. "For you."

  Her eyes widened. If he'd actually bought her a dead, dressed baby alligator or a plastic snow globe as a memento of the day, she was going to have to politely thank him. After all, one person's junk was another one's treasure, or something to that effect. She peeked tentatively inside the bag.

  "It's … clothes?" Shelby pulled out pink, green and white plaid boxer-style shorts and a pink T-shirt. There was also a pair of pink rubber flip-flops.

  "You can change in the restroom of the restaurant across the street." Garrett's suggestion sounded more like an order.

  "I can't let you buy me clothes," Shelby protested.

  "Not even cheap ones from a tacky souvenir shop?"

  "Garrett, if I wanted these I could've bought them for myself."

  "True. But you didn't know you wanted them. You didn't even know that you needed them. And you do, Shelby. You'll melt in the heat in that getup—uh, outfit—you're wearing now."

  He had a point. The temperature had soared into the mid-nineties and Shelby was perspiring merely by standing still outside the shop. She would certainly be cooler if she were to shed these layers of clothes. And the shorts and T-shirt he'd selected weren't hideous, a
lthough the pink flip-flops were another matter entirely. But at this point they would be more comfortable than the too-tight heels on her swollen feet and the sweltering panty hose. "All right, but I insist on paying you back for them."

  "If you insist, I'll accept," Garrett said graciously, his blue eyes twinkling.

  She went back into the store and bought a multicolored cloth ponytail holder. Her scalp was beginning to ache from the strain of her tightly bound chignon and a loose ponytail would be a relief from both the pressure and the heat.

  They stowed her business clothes in the cramped back seat of the little car and headed for the Hemingway House, now a museum dedicated to the novelist's life and work.

  "You look great," Garrett said, eyeing her long bare legs with open appreciation as they walked toward the entrance.

  "These are cut too short." Shelby tugged at the hem of the plaid boxers but it did little good. She felt self-conscious and overexposed. She never wore very short shorts like these, not even for running on the beach.

  "I repeat, you look great." This time he gave a comical, lascivious leer.

  She couldn't help laughing; his expression was exaggerated and ridiculous. Garrett reached for her hand and tucked it into his own.

  She shouldn't have laughed, Shelby scolded herself. Her laughter had encouraged him and this man certainly did not need encouragement. He was already fully aware of his own charm and appeal.

  And she was achingly aware of the strength of his big hand enfolding hers.

  Garrett felt her small tremor at his touch and a surge of pure male possessiveness flashed through him. Her fingers were slim and graceful, her hand small and feminine. He wanted her. And she was very sensually aware of him, too, he was certain of that. How long would it take for him to make her want him?

  He thought of their passionate kisses in the ocean yesterday. Not long, he promised himself. Not long at all. Ruefully aware of his semi-aroused state, he forced his thoughts away from his body—and hers—and back to their surroundings, the two-story Spanish Colonial-style house where Ernest Hemingway had lived and wrote. And raised cats.