"You've seen Psycho?" Garrett sounded extraordinarily pleased. "I'm a rabid Hitchcock fan, I've seen every one of his films at least five times and—"
"Just because I've seen Psycho doesn't mean I care to live it. I—"
A bottle suddenly hit the windshield, hurled by the force of the wind. The bottle shattered, spewing glass, but fortunately the windshield was strong enough to withstand the assault and didn't even crack.
Garrett frowned grimly. "We're getting out of this car right now, Shelby. A concrete block or brick might come crashing through one of the windows and clobber us. Get your packages and come on."
"No!"
"I'll carry you inside if I have to," he warned. His blue eyes were flinty with determination. "If that's what you want, then just sit here and keep saying no."
"You can't bully me! I—"
He opened the door and a blast of wind and rain filled the car. "I'm going to get us a room. I'll be back for you."
A room, he'd said. Not two rooms. Shelby was instantly galvanized into action. "I demand my own room!" she called after him. "If we have to stay here, we're renting two rooms." She tumbled out of the car, slamming the door behind her. The wind was so strong, it almost knocked her off her feet.
Garrett returned to grab her and, holding tightly to her, they battled the wind to trudge the few feet into the dimly lit office of the Seagull Motel.
Stepping inside, they learned the reason why the office was so dimly lit. The power was out and the only illumination came from several candles that were burning on top of the desk. A pudgy, red-haired clerk sat behind it, eating from an open bag of pork rinds and listening to the radio.
"Hello there, folks!" he greeted them jovially. "Got caught in the storm, huh? It's a bad one. Close to hurricane-force winds, the weather report says. Caught everybody by surprise."
"See? Not Norman Bates," Garrett whispered reassuringly to Shelby, out of earshot of the clerk.
Shelby glanced around the office whose seedy aura was apparent despite the lack of lights. The place was downright creepy. It wouldn't have surprised her to spot a mummified corpse reposing in a corner, most likely surrounded by a collection of dead baby alligators dressed in doll-size clothes.
"We'd like two rooms for the night please," Garrett said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. We only have one room left," the clerk replied.
"What?" Shelby whirled around to face Garrett. She heard the hammer of her heartbeat echo in her ears. Suddenly her pulses were racing out of control.
Garrett watched her closely, taking in the rush of color to her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the pink cotton of her shirt. He could feel the tension emanating from her, see it in the faint trembling of her body. Miss Halford was quite disturbed over the prospect of sharing a room with him. He found her overreaction amusing. Did she expect he would jump her the moment they were alone in a bedroom together? Or was she afraid that she might be tempted to jump him? Now there was an appealing notion!
"I said we only have one room available," the clerk replied.
"That means we have to share, Shelby," Garrett drawled.
"Place started filling up when the storm got bad. Travelers like yourself pulling over," the clerk explained, sounding thrilled. "We haven't had full occupancy since 1974. Kind of a historic night for us here at the Seagull."
"Well, we can't stay," Shelby said frantically. Her heart was pounding in a painful panic and her eyes compulsively slid over Garrett's long, lean length, from his powerful shoulders to his flat belly. She quickly jerked her gaze away. "We need two rooms. We'll drive on until we find—"
"We're staying." Garrett's tone brooked no argument. "We're not going to risk being out in the storm in a car that's as big as a dessert cart. We'll take the room," he added decisively.
"The power's out and we don't know when it'll be restored," the clerk warned. "But we're still charging the regular rate. Payable in advance."
* * *
"Forty-five dollars for this dump!" an indignant Garrett exclaimed a short while later. He was pacing the last room available at the Seagull Motel. "What an outrage!"
He gestured toward the double bed, its lumpy mattress and threadbare spread apparent even in the flickering light provided by one of the two candles the clerk had given them. "Why, there's not even a TV set."
"Not that it matters," Shelby said glumly. "There's no electricity tonight. No lights, no air-conditioning, no air!" She cracked the door to let some fresh air inside. A blast of wind and rain swept in. Shelby surrendered to the inevitable and closed the door again. She turned her attention back to Garrett, who continued to pace like a restless tiger trapped in a too-small cage.
In addition to the bed, there was an old armchair and a nicked and scratched three-drawer bureau squeezed into the room, leaving only a narrow strip between the door and the wall for pacing. There was also a bathroom the size of a phone booth.
"We could always leave," she suggested hopefully. "We don't have to stay here. There have to be other places farther along the—"
"We don't have a choice. You heard what the guy said—hurricane-force winds. We're not going to drive through them. We're here and we're going to make the best of it." Garrett smiled grimly. "Actually, this is a good lesson for me. I can experience firsthand how and why Family Fun Inns have been so successful. With places like the Seagull Motel as our competition for low-budget rooms, no wonder business is booming. But we must never lose our edge and grow complacent."
"I appreciate your consumer-and-marketing lesson, but this place is truly awful, Garrett! How are we ever going to get through the whole night here? It's not quite ten o'clock yet. And I don't want to even touch that bedspread, let alone sit on it."
Garrett whipped the ancient spread off the bed. "The sheets are clean, they're actually starched," he noted, sliding his hands over the top sheet. "You can safely sit down, Shelby." He caught her hand. "Relax, honey. It's—"
"If you're about to make a pass, you can save yourself the effort," she said trenchantly. "You don't have a prayer of seducing me in a rattletrap like this, so don't even try."
Garrett grinned. "Setting is important to you, hmm? Candlelight, wine, soft music."
"A bed that doesn't look like someone died in it. A room that doesn't reek of must and mildew. Call me finicky, but those are my minimal requirements."
He carried her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. "How about if I call you discerning. Particular. A discriminating woman with fastidious tastes. And, no, this is not a pass. Give me credit for a little style, Shelby. I certainly wouldn't want to consummate our relationship in a rat hole like the Seagull Motel."
Her heart lurched and she snatched her hand away from him. "We're not going to consummate our relationship anywhere, Garrett McGrath. We don't even have a relationship."
"Don't we?"
"Certainly not!" she insisted swiftly and forcefully. Too swiftly and too forcefully, she realized at once. It would've been so much more effective to simply smile and shrug off his light remark with a sophisticated, casual reply of her own.
Her eyes narrowed with displeasure and she glared at him. "And don't you dare try to come back with that overused quotation about the 'lady doth protest too much'!"
"I don't have to. You're doing an excellent job of it all on your own."
"An excellent job of what?" she snapped.
"Of verifying that we do indeed have a relationship. One that most certainly will be consummated. In time. But not tonight."
Even in the darkness, she could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. He was teasing her. Baiting her. And she'd fallen right into the trap. She flopped down on the edge of the bed and stared at the candle, their only source of light. It was burning quickly, melted wax running down the sides as the flame flickered.
"When this candle burns down, we can light the other one, but what happens when it goes out, too?" she mused nervously.
"Then we're
totally in the dark. The clerk was very definite about the two-candles-per-room limit." Garrett sat down beside her on the bed. "Are you hungry?"
She nodded. "It's been a long time since lunch. Too bad we didn't eat dinner before we left Key West."
"This seems to be the ideal time to mention that I suggested having dinner before setting out on this drive from hell. I also suggested not making the drive at all tonight. Sharing a room at a Family Fun Inn beats a night at the Seagull hands down."
"But then you would've missed this marvelous learning opportunity provided by the Seagull." There was a taunting gleam in her hazel eyes.
"Touché." Garrett grinned. He reached for the bags he'd set down on the armchair, which were filled with his purchases from Key West. "Don't worry, we're not going to starve tonight. While you were in that card shop, I bought some souvenir food to bring home to the family. But since we're both hungry, we might as well eat it now."
"Souvenir food?" Shelby echoed. "I'm almost afraid to ask what that is."
"It's stuff that's indigenous to the area, interesting things to eat that you probably won't find in Buffalo." Garrett pulled the items from the bags. "Like Key lime saltwater taffy. A jar of papaya, banana and pineapple in cinnamon and currant jelly sauce. Guava fudge. Lychee nuts. Here, help yourself."
Shelby declined. "On second thought, maybe I'd rather starve tonight."
Garrett shrugged, unwrapped a piece of taffy and popped it in his mouth. "I've tasted worse," was all he said, hardly a glowing endorsement. "I also bought some souvenir beverages," he added, handing Shelby another bag.
She pulled out a decanter shaped like a mermaid and read the label. "Circe's Spiced Rum." There was another, traditional-shaped bottle inside the bag, as well. "Captain Jolly's Lime-flavored Rum." She shuddered. "These are evil-looking brews. The lime rum is tinted green!"
"I thought Gran could break it open next St. Patrick's Day." Garrett sampled the fudge and coughed. "Well, the fudge gets a thumbs down from me. Try a bite." He held a piece of it to her lips.
Shelby took a hamster-size nibble and grimaced. "Ugh! Make that two thumbs down."
Garrett tossed the partially eaten piece of fudge into the wastebasket in the corner. "Two points," he explained when it hit. "I haven't lost my touch."
"Did you play basketball?"
He nodded. "In high school and college. I wasn't bad but I wasn't great, either. The sport didn't lose a potential superstar when I gave it up."
"So what sport do you play now?" she asked. "Golf?"
"I've picked up a golf club on occasion."
She made a muffled sound and looked away.
"Are you snickering at me behind my back?" He snatched her ponytail and tugged on it, forcing her to look at him. "Aha, you are!"
"I'm just trying to picture you on the golf course, playing a few rounds with the exalted captains of the hotel industry. I bet you caused some brows to arch when you showed up in your jeans and Niagara Falls Is For Lovers T-shirt."
"Would you snicker if I told you about my madras golf slacks and peacock blue golf shirt?"
"The mind reels." She did snicker again, she couldn't help herself.
Another piece of fudge thudded into the wastebasket. "Slam dunk," he proclaimed. "Care to give it a shot?"
While Shelby was taking aim with a piece of taffy, he twisted open the cap on the bottle of Circe's Spiced Rum and took a swallow of the dark brown liquid. "Whew!" He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Circe packs one helluva punch."
Shelby's taffy landed several feet short of the wastebasket. She retrieved it and tried again. And missed again. Garrett made another perfect shot. Shelby missed once more.
"Your aim is pretty pathetic. Maybe Circe here can help you." He handed her the mermaid-shaped bottle.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she demanded suspiciously.
"So I can have my wicked way with you? Sorry to disappoint you, honey, but I do have my standards. And a seduction at the Seagull doesn't measure up to them."
"What does?" She put the bottle to her lips and took a tentative sip. Circe's Spiced Rum was fiery but surprisingly sweet, tasting more like soda pop than alcohol. She took a larger gulp this time. "What meets your exalted standards for seduction, anyway?"
Garrett took the bottle and drank from it. "There should be good food. Not too rich or too heavy. Or too sweet."
"That leaves out guava fudge and Key lime taffy," Shelby observed. She got the bottle back. The more she drank of this stuff, the better she liked it.
He nodded in agreement. "Maybe some fine wine. A nice California Chardonnay. Or maybe something French."
"That excludes Circe's Spiced Rum." She handed him the bottle. Her head was beginning to spin a little.
"A big, comfortable room with a beautiful view and an excellent mattress on the bed," he continued.
She ran her hand over a spring in the lump mattress. "Things being how they are, the Seagull is definitely out of the running for 'ideal setting'." Somehow the bottle was back in her hands. She automatically drank from it.
"Romantic music playing in the background," Garrett added.
"Without electricity, nothing is playing in the background here except what is provided by Mother Nature. Would you classify the sound of debris hitting the window as romantic?"
"And most important of all, I have to be with the right woman. That would make it a mutual seduction, with her wanting me as much as I want her. Which isn't seduction at all, but making love."
Shelby took another swig of spiced rum. "And how often does this happen? You finding yourself with Ms. Right in the ideal setting with the perfect food, wine and music? Once a week? Twice? Every night?"
"I'm not a womanizer, Shelby, if that's what you're asking."
"Whether you are or you aren't doesn't matter to me. How you choose to entertain yourself in your spare time doesn't interest me in the slightest." This time she scored a direct hit with the taffy into the wastebasket.
"Hmm, what was it you said earlier, about the lady doth protest too much?"
"I didn't say it. I warned you not to say it."
"Ah. Well, now that we've cleared that up, would you care to sample some of Captain Jolly's potion?"
"Absolutely not! I don't drink anything that's green, and you shouldn't, either."
"I think we're on to something here." Garrett snapped his fingers. "Both green doors and green liquids lack popular appeal."
"Quick, call market research!"
They both laughed. And passed the bottle of Circe's Spiced Rum. And aimed more pieces of candy into the wastebasket.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Bright rays of sunshine streamed through the slats of the dingy old venetian blinds, flooding the small motel room with light. Shelby stirred and cracked open one eye. She was lying flat on her back on the bed in a shabby, dilapidated room with water stains zigzagging across the ceiling. Outside, the sounds of howling wind and teeming rain were conspicuously absent.
Shelby stirred, feeling unpleasantly sticky in the hot, stuffy room. She was still wearing the shorts and shirt Garrett had bought her yesterday. For the first time in her life she'd gone to bed in her clothes, without faithfully completing her normal nightly ablutions.
He lay beside her, fully dressed and sound asleep, facing her. Shelby allowed her gaze to linger on him, sweeping over the sharp features of his face. With those alert and assessing blue eyes of his closed, she was able to study him at her leisure, and she took full advantage. The firm line of his mouth, his lips, well-defined and sensuous, were particularly compelling. His strong jaw, usually smooth and close-shaven, was now darkened with stubble. Fascinated, she almost reached out to touch it, but she restrained herself. She didn't want to awaken him; she wasn't quite ready to face him yet.
Shelby sat up abruptly and stifled a moan. She felt as if she'd taken a sharp jab to the head. She gazed around, focusing on the scene around her. Candy an
d wrappers littered the floor, the wastebasket was overturned, and an empty mermaid-shaped bottle sat on top of the ugly, old bureau. The moldy, musty smell of mildew assailed her nostrils when she took a deep breath.
It was the morning-after a riotous night-before at the Seagull Motel.
"What time is it?" Garrett mumbled, keeping his eyes tightly closed.
Shelby glanced at her watch. "Quarter to eight. It's stopped raining," she added unnecessarily. Now that the opening remarks were out of the way, she felt herself begin to relax a little.
"You didn't by any chance take a mallet and pound me over the head with it last night, did you?" Garrett tentatively touched his temples with his fingertips and grimaced.
"Not unless you did the same to me and neither of us remembers." Shelby began to gingerly rub her scalp. "I think it's more than likely that our old friend Circe is to blame."
Garrett rolled over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. "She's one potent siren. Now I know how all those hapless sailors met their doom. If I'd been steering a boat last night under Circe's influence, I'd have ended up crashing on the rocks for sure. You don't happen to have any aspirin with you, do you?"
"As a matter of fact, I do." Shelby slowly climbed out of bed and fumbled for her purse. She took two pills herself, before ministering to Garrett.
"You're an angel of mercy." He sat up to gratefully swallow the medicine and drain the water glass dry. "This room is even worse than I imagined it last night in the dark," he murmured, looking around. His eyes flicked over the candy and overturned wastebasket. "The tournament," he recalled. "I won, I believe."
"That remains undecided. After both candles burned out, it was too dark to tell if the candy hit the wastebasket or missed it. You claimed every single one of your shots hit, but I know they didn't."
"Yes, they did. All those pieces of candy lying around are your misses. And am I delirious or did we actually sing the theme songs of every movie and TV show we could think of last night?"
"When we didn't know the words, we hummed the tune," she confirmed. "I think we were both, uh, slightly juiced at that point."
FAMILY FEUD Page 9