Margot Dalton - The Newcomer

“I guess so. But we were no more to her than names on a page, Maggie. Our family was Natasha’s designated charity—her tax deduction.”

“Aren’t you even a little bit grateful to her?” Maggie asked, sipping her tea.

“Sure I’m grateful. But I still don’t believe charity gives Natasha the right to own you, and make you do anything she wants you to.”

“Terry, eight years ago I chose to work for Natasha, and it’s been a damn good job. Certainly not some kind of indentured servitude, the way you’re implying.”

Her brother watched her thoughtfully. “So how much are you allowed to spend, buying this nice little place? What do towns sell for nowadays?”

“Natasha’s prepared to invest up to thirty million dollars. She’d like to acquire all of the business area, and a good portion of the private residences.”

“And what’s she going to do with them?”

Maggie shrugged wearily. “I told you, nobody really knows. Maybe she’ll change the name of the town to Dunne Creek, or have her picture on the postmark.”

“Maybe she’ll build a theme park, and call it Natasha Land.”

Maggie laughed at this. “You’re right, Terry. Who knows what she might do? Maybe after the cruise,” she added hopefully, “Natasha will change her mind altogether.”

“Well, if she doesn’t,” he said with an answering grin, his good humor apparently restored, “I sure don’t envy you the task of trying to buy this hotel from Doug Evans.”

Maggie’s laughter faded. She set down her teacup, staring at the window.

“I know there’ll be lots of opposition,” she said. “If Natasha insists on going ahead with this, the only hope would be to find one or two people who are willing to sell, and approach them first with offers to purchase. Once we’ve already acquired even a small block of local property, others might be tempted by the cash.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But I’m really hoping she’ll just forget the whole project,” Maggie confessed.

Terry got up and wandered across the room to look down at the quiet street. Maggie watched his casual, lounging figure, wondering what he was thinking.

“How old do you suppose Rose Murdoch is?” he asked without turning around.

Maggie looked at her notes again. “It doesn’t say, but I’d guess she’s about my age.”

“And you’ll be thirty-one in March, right?”

“How nice of you to remember,” Maggie said dryly. “I’m really touched.”

Terry ignored her, still gazing at the street. “Rose is probably closer to my age,” he said at last. “Late twenties, don’t you think?”

“If that’s true, she must have been married very young,” Maggie said, “because the older girl is nine years old.”

“Do your notes say why she got divorced?”

Maggie looked with sudden interest at her brother’s blond head, glistening in the late-afternoon light from the window.

“Terry, what’s this all about? Why the big concern about Rose Murdoch?”

“I just like the look of her,” he said, coming back to sprawl on the couch again.

“Yes, I noticed that.” Maggie gave him a teasing smile.

“She seems like a nice person,” he said with studied casualness. “Is it so strange that I’d notice a good-looking woman?”

“When you’re in the middle of working on that book, you never seem to notice anybody.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m not working at the moment. I haven’t written a word in the past week, since we decided to come out here on this crazy project.”

“You should have rented that apartment down on the beach while they were working on your place.”

“I didn’t want you out here all alone, dealing with Natasha when she’s on one of her tangents. And I don’t care where I live as long as I can work. But I won’t be working anytime soon,” he added restlessly, “unless your big Scotsman gets some computer equipment installed up here.”

“He’s not my Scotsman!” Maggie said hotly.

Her brother arched an eyebrow, his face sparkling with amusement. “Why, Maggie,” he said, raising a cup in her direction. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“What?” she said.

“You’re actually blushing. You’ve turned as pink as Rose Murdoch.”

Maggie frowned and swatted her younger brother with the file folder while he ducked aside, laughing. Then she began hauling her luggage into the bedroom with its snowy-white curtains and four-poster bed.

MAGGIE AND HER BROTHER unpacked and rested for a couple of hours in their separate rooms. By the time they went downstairs, it was about seven o’clock in the evening.

Doug Evans was behind the reception desk, on one of the tall stools occupied by his sister earlier in the day. He pored over an open ledger and punched numbers onto a computer keyboard, looking annoyed. Invoices and receipts littered the desk. Dundee lay partly upon the stack of papers, occasionally swatting playfully at the keyboard.

“Can’t make head nor tail of this damn stuff,” Doug muttered, giving them a distracted glance. “I really should take a computer course to update my skills.”

Maggie, who was a certified accountant in addition to holding an advanced degree in business, looked with interest at the masses of paper.

Though her job with Natasha Dunne had involved all kinds of strange and exotic duties over the years, Maggie Embree’s first love would always be computers and bookkeeping.

“Why don’t you hire somebody?” she asked.

“Who would I find in this town? Anybody who’s remotely qualified has a job already. The hotel books were in a mess when I bought the place, and computer software seems to change every ten minutes.”

“What would you say is your most immediate problem?” Maggie asked.

“Hell, who knows?” He glared at the screen. “We need somebody to work here for a few days, at least, and design a profit-and-loss statement, cost projections and decent spreadsheets, some kind of a plan for our future computer development…”

“Maggie could sort that out for you in ten minutes,” Terry said. “Give her a set of books and a good computer, and this girl’s a marvel.”

Doug gave her a quick thoughtful glance that made her feel awkward again. She forced herself to meet his eyes casually.

“Is there by any chance a dining room in the hotel, Doug?” she asked.

For a moment he seemed both startled and a little unsettled by her casual use of his first name. Then he shook his dark head and leafed though a messy pile of invoices.

“We serve burgers and snacks in the hotel pub, but that’s about all. Most of our guests eat their meals down the street at the Longhorn. Nora makes the best home fries in the state.”

“The Longhorn,” Terry said, grinning. “Now, that sounds interesting. You’ll love it, Maggie.”

She gave him a warning glance.

“My sister’s a big-city girl,” Terry told the man behind the desk. “Maggie eats alfalfa sprouts and sushi. I’ll bet she’s never had a plate of home fries in her life.”

“Is that so?” Doug laughed. “Well then, she’s got a terrific experience ahead of her.”

Maggie headed for the lobby door, with Terry ambling behind her.

“Look, quit talking to that man about me as if I’m not even there,” she muttered to her brother when they were outside on the darkened street.

“He seems interested,” Terry said innocently as they made their way toward the restaurant. “Don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less if he’s interested.” A few minutes later they reached the Longhorn. Maggie pushed open the door of the restaurant, relieved to step into the smoky warmth after the chill of the street.