Wendy Etherington - Suiteheart Of A Deal

Reading her thoughts, Beck stepped in and asked for the bottom line. Hollis explained that while the inn wasn’t exactly bankrupt, it was barely breaking even. Occupancy was down to fifty percent, even in peak season, and the loan payments were eating up what little profits could be made. Not only that, major repairs needed to be carried out. He handed Beck a list of critical items. To Rainey he said, “Frankly, the staff are starting to be concerned about their jobs. They hear things.”

“No one’s going to lose their job,” she declared with fierce determination. “But where on earth will we get the money to do the repairs? We can’t borrow any more, and there’s no cash on reserve.” She bit her lower lip and began to pace back and forth.

A grin slowly spread across Beck’s face, and a frustrated Rainey wondered if he’d lost his mind. There was nothing funny about any of this. First of all, he had been fifteen minutes late for the meeting—fifteen minutes. Secondly, he had so far showed precious little interest in their situation. He was going to have to buck up, start taking things just a little more seriously.

“I know where we can get it,” he murmured like a boy who knew where secret treasure was buried. He smiled politely at Hollis. “Would you kindly excuse us for just a moment?”

After Hollis shuffled out of the room, knee buckling slightly, a still-grinning Beck turned to Rainey. “I have an idea, but you won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, but you have to promise me that you’ll stay calm.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Beck. What is it?”

He leaned forward and whispered, “I think we should get married.”

“I’D RATHER HAVE a third eye in the middle of my forehead!” Rainey stormed into her apartment, Beck nipping at her heels.

“Oh, now that’s great!” he exclaimed as the door bounced off the wall and crashed into him. “You know, you’re not a very nice person, Rainey Miller. You’ve got a nasty streak!”

“Nasty streak?” Seething, she tromped ahead of him into the tiny kitchen with its scarred pine table and rustic appliances. “Give me a break! I don’t even know if I can work with you, and now you want to marry me? Forget it, buster!”

“Oh, now, wait just one minute there. My name’s not buster—though I’m starting to think it should be. And, hey, what would be so bad about being married to me? I’ll have you know that lots of women would kill for the chance. Hundreds. Thousands even!”

“I think you just answered your own question.”

“Oh, baloney! I like women. So sue me.”

Bristling, Rainey rummaged in the cupboards for the kettle. Tea. That was what she needed. A nice cup of tea. She had been in Bragg Creek all of twenty-four hours. So far, she had been cheated out of half her inheritance and been saddled with a crumbling, nearly bankrupt inn. She had lost her living quarters and acquired a flaky flirt of a business partner she didn’t want. And now she was being asked to marry the flake? Good grief—what was next?

“Just hear me out.” Beck plopped down at the table. “See, I have this trust fund. My grandfather left it to me when I was three. He set it up to be paid out in two installments. I got the first installment when I turned twenty-one, but I can’t touch the rest until I turn thirty-five or get married, whichever comes first.” He lowered his voice. “Rainey, there’s enough money in that fund to turn this place into a palace.”

“I don’t want to marry a—a playboy! I don’t want to marry anybody, at least not right now.” Darn it, where was the kettle? Surely Lilly and her “cronies” drank tea.

Beck threw his hands in the air. “Oh, c’mon, Rainey. Why do you think I’m such a hit with the ladies? I’ll tell you why. There isn’t one woman in this town, for that matter in this region—what the hell, make it the entire province—who doesn’t know about that trust fund.”

Arghhh! Despite her determination to blow off steam for as long as humanly possible, Rainey felt her resolve weakening. She fought the little smile that tugged at the corner of her lips, but in the end it won. Over her shoulder, she joked, “Are you saying they’re not after you just for your good looks and dazzling personality?”

He nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She turned and confronted him. “But you flirt with all those women!” Good grief, she sounded like a jealous wife.

He shrugged. “It’s a pastime, nothing more. And you’re not listening to me. I’m not suggesting that we get married married—you know, with bridesmaids and babies and a minivan and all that junk….”

“Those things aren’t junk!”

His expression softened. “You’re right. They aren’t junk. I’d like babies myself, someday.”

Surprised by the warmth and sincerity of his tone, Rainey searched his eyes to determine if he was being serious or just goofing off, as usual. She saw nothing to suggest he wasn’t being completely honest.

“You would?” She couldn’t imagine Beck with a house full of kids. She couldn’t even imagine him married to just one woman. And yet…somehow she could.

“Yeah, I would,” he replied softly. Seeing the skepticism in her eyes, he heaved a sigh and insisted, “I really would, Rainey.”

Oh, no. It was happening again. She felt herself involuntarily melting, succumbing to his charm—for exactly as long as it took for him to flash her one of his “gotcha!” grins. Before she had time to react, he winked garishly. “If you don’t believe me, try me.”

So much for warm sentiment. “Not in this lifetime, buster. I’d rather have a giant wart on the end of my nose!”

His smirk rapidly vanishing, Beck opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. For a moment, they just glared at one another. Then, despite the tension in the air, or maybe because of it, they both cracked up. Between howls, Beck cried, “Gee, Rainey, I don’t know if I could look at a big wart every day!” Rainey laughed until tears sprang to her eyes.

“Look,” he continued when their laughter finally petered out, “all I’m saying is, it would be the ideal solution to our problem.”

Still searching in the cluttered cupboards, Rainey shook her head. “There has to be another way, Beck. It’s—it’s too crazy. It’s too extreme.”

“Okay. What’s your solution?”

Well, okay, he had her there. Based on that list of urgent repairs, it was going to take a lot of money to fix up the inn. Rainey couldn’t ask her retired parents for that much cash, and all she had was her meager savings and the proceeds from the sale of her condo in Toronto—hardly enough money to buy a new furnace.

“We’ll borrow against your cottage,” she suggested with cheeky aplomb. Darn it, maybe there was no kettle. Who had a Ouija board but no kettle?

Beck threw back his head and howled. “Not a chance, lady! I bought that cottage with the first installment of my trust. It’s all I have in the world, and I’m not risking it.”

The kettle—a battered tin thing with a whistling spout—finally materialized. Rainey took it to the sink. Lost in thought, she absentmindedly filled it to overflowing, then poured the excess water down the drain and set it down on a burner.

“The thing is,” Beck argued while she searched for tea bags, “we’ve got big trouble here. If we don’t bring this place up to snuff, we’ll go bankrupt.”

“Hah! You mean I’ll go bankrupt. You’ll be no worse off than before, Beck. And besides, if we use your money, you’ll have more invested than I do. It will be your inn.”

When he didn’t respond immediately, Rainey looked sharply at him. His expression had gone soft and dreamy again. Another zinger was coming. True to form, he murmured, “You know, I really like it when you say my name.”