Suiteheart Of A Deal: Suiteheart Of A Deal / My Place Or Yours?

5

FOR THE NEXT three days, Rainey briskly went about the business of becoming general manager of the Honeymoon Haven.

On the morning of the first day she introduced herself to every member of the staff, in each case offering reassurances that despite whatever they had heard, all was well at the Haven. To her surprise, most of them were more interested to know how she felt about working with Beck than about the security of their jobs. Smiling tightly, she insisted she was thrilled, simply thrilled, to have Beck Mahoney as a partner. There was a lot of whispering behind her back, a little snickering and some blatant laughter.

“Humph! So it’s going to be the two of you now, is it?” Mrs. Norman shouted at her. The women were close enough to touch, and Rainey almost fell backward. Before she could regain her footing and muster a reply, the head housekeeper said “Humph!” again and marched away.

Hollis was more succinct. “So, it’s you and B-b-beck,” he commented, adding a stutter to his already impressive collection of quirks.

Passing her in the corridor at noon, Beck leaned down and whispered, “Have you thought it over?”

“No!” Rainey snapped. She was still hurt and humiliated and, darn it, she was staying that way as long as possible!

After the lunch crowd cleared out, she had the plants removed from the dining room and spent a breathless afternoon helping the kitchen staff to rearrange the heavy tables. Then she called each of the inn’s suppliers and formally introduced herself.

Before heading home, a sweaty, fatigued Beck poked his head into her office. All day he had been struggling alongside Hollis to temporarily repair one of the inn’s two ancient furnaces. The weather had turned cool, and the guests had been forced to don sweaters. Moaning and grumbling, they repeatedly conveyed their displeasure to Rainey.

“Have you thought it over yet?” he asked yet again.

“No, I haven’t. Get lost!”

“Certainly.” He bowed deeply as he backed out of the doorway. Oooh, he was such a pain! She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of a laugh.

On day two she cleared the clutter from Lilly’s office and went through dozens of bulging files, sorting the wheat from the chaff. There were documents dating back ten years or more, some on crumbling, yellowed paper. One file held the sticky remnants of a half-eaten butter tart.

In the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, at the very back, she found a folder labeled “Rainey.” What the devil? Brows furrowed, she opened it and pulled out a single sheet of mauve, floral stationery—a letter addressed to her from Lilly.

My dearest darling niece,

I expect that by now you have recovered from the shock of my recent decision and are getting on with things. I apologize for leaving the inn in such a poor state. I confess that lately I have left the running of the place mostly to Freda and Hollis. I am confident they will be a big help to you and Beck as you work to make the Haven everything it can be. He is a fine young man, and was very sweet to me. Best wishes for a long and happy partnership.

Sincerely,

Aunt Lilly

P.S. Don’t forget about my party.

Stunned by its brevity and businesslike tone, Rainey sat back on her haunches on the worn carpet and read the letter again. That was it? No explanation of why Lilly had reneged on her promise? Just a reminder about the party? Well, at least Rainey understood now why Mrs. Norman wasn’t exactly thrilled with the new arrangement. She was used to being in charge.

Lilly was right about one thing. Whatever it took, she and Beck were going to drag the Haven kicking and screaming into the new millennium. With sound management and a little spit and polish, the inn was going to be a model of gracious hospitality and corporate efficiency. Rainey suddenly envisioned herself on the cover of one of those glossy hotel trade magazines, smiling under the banner: Honeymoon Haven Voted World’s Best Hotel. It was going to happen. Yes, sir!

From time to time, Beck came by to check up on her. Each time he asked if she’d thought it over, and each time she said no. Good grief. Why was he in such a hurry? After all, it wasn’t going to be a real marriage. Uh, that was, if it happened at all.

Marriage. Hmm. Her brain was still cycling crazily through the list of potential problems. For one thing, wouldn’t marrying Beck mean spending altogether too much time with him? Living with him, working with him. Even the best of real marriages would buckle under that kind of strain.

At the end of day three, weary from placating chilly guests and a little cold herself, Rainey poured a hot bath in Lilly’s claw-footed tub and sank into it with a sigh of relief. For the first time since his call, Trevor popped into her head.

Why had he called? Surely he didn’t have any illusions about getting back together? How could they, anyway? He was an urban yuppie who detested small-town life. One week in Bragg Creek and he’d be whining, “What? No avante garde theater?” And Rainey was never going back to big-city life.

Never. As she luxuriated in the hot, soapy water, the sheer finality of that word hit her like a slap in the face. She was here and she was staying. Forever. Whatever it took to keep her in this beautiful place, she would do it.

Ah, even if it meant marrying the town hustler? Yes, she realized, even if it meant that.

Sighing, she looked around the bathroom, at the chipped paint on the wood wainscoting and the cracked, rippling mirror above the pedestal sink. Lilly’s personal items were still in the medicine cabinet. Thank heavens Rainey didn’t have to redecorate. There was, of course, still the matter of where she was going to live.

Hmm. A light flashed on in her head and she abruptly sat up, splashing water over the side of the tub. What would Trevor think if she married Beck? Hah! Wouldn’t it just serve him right? Wouldn’t it just frost him? She could just see the look on his bland face. Total shock. Oh, how she would love to see it! Of course, if she did marry Beck, she would have to settle for Trevor’s reaction over the telephone. But even that would be worth it.

Oh, yes, she realized with maniacal glee, it would be well worth it.

Laughing like a lunatic, suspecting that she had lost her marbles but somehow no longer caring, and knowing full well that it was going to be a disaster, she scrambled out of the tub and called Beck at home. When he answered, sounding tired, she exclaimed, “Okay, buster, I’ve thought it over. Let’s do it!”

“YES, LADIES and gentlemen,” Beck intoned in his best impersonation of an infomercial pitch man, “it’s the first, the only, free-trial offer of its kind. Try a wife! Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. If you’re not happy with the product, just return it after six months—a year at the most—and get a full refund.”

Chuckling aloud, he dipped Lilly’s ancient hand razor in the sink and took another careful swipe at his five o’clock shadow. He wanted to look his best tonight. He was about to make the biggest, and definitely the strangest, announcement of his life: I’m getting married, Grandma, to a woman I met five days ago. She doesn’t love me, Grandma. Hell, she doesn’t even like me much, but who cares? She’s a babe!

His eyes, glassy and a little crazed looking, stared back at him from the mirror above Rainey’s bathroom sink. “You’ve gone mad,” he said to them.

“Beck, what on earth are you doing in there?” Rainey asked from outside the door. She sounded tense, rattled.

“Nothing,” he answered in the high-pitched voice of a kid just about to shave his head and put a ring in his nose.

Moments later he heard an anxious sigh followed by the click-click of her heels retreating down the hall. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

Wasn’t it just the deal of a lifetime? A suiteheart of a deal, he thought, choking back a laugh. How many guys could just try a wife on for size? Marry with the option, right up front, to just walk away if things didn’t work out? None, that’s how many. Nate Frome would be green with envy. He already had two messy divorces behind him.

Ah, wait a minute. He couldn’t tell Nate the truth—not right away. If their little scheme was to work, everybody had to believe that he and Rainey were crazy in love. No exceptions. Dammit, he would love, just love, to see the look on old Nate’s mug.

Distracted, he nicked himself. Terrific. Now he was going to be stuck with a nerdy square of tissue on his chin.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a real marriage—not in the biblical sense, anyway. Rainey had made that pretty clear the other day. Separate bedrooms. Yeah, well, he’d just have to see about that.

And that stuff about being vulnerable. What was that about? Obviously, Trevor, whoever he was, had broken her heart. Beck wanted to kill the guy. Mostly for hurting Rainey, but also partly for giving Beck one more damned hurdle to jump. Loving Rainey was starting to feel like a four-hundred-yard relay.

He dabbed at the cut with a tissue. Hey, wait a minute. Loving Rainey. Now where had that thought come from? Stay cool, he silently warned his reflection. Stay cool, old boy.

He heard her banging around in the living room. Nervous and jumpy, she had changed her clothes about nine times in the past hour. Beck could just imagine what she was wearing now. One of those prim, high-necked blouses she seemed to have an endless supply of. A straight, knee-length skirt. Probably panty hose, too. You’d think she was still working at the Royal York Hotel, or something. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that no woman in Bragg Creek wore panty hose if she could possibly avoid it.

Cool. Yeah, well, that was going to be tough. ’Cause no matter what kind of getup she wore, Rainey Miller was just about the most delicious piece of womanhood he had ever seen. Those eyes. Those curves. Those legs.

After that stupid move he’d made in her kitchen the other day, Beck had gone home and cursed himself three ways to Sunday. She had just issued a plea for mercy, and what had he done? Drooled all over her, that’s what. Like it or not, he would just have to summon a little restraint. Keep his greedy mitts off her—except, of course, when it served their crazy purpose.

Yes, sir. The bedroom thing, the wardrobe thing, the anal-retention thing—all would be addressed in good time.

His thoughts drifted to Francine. Should he tell Rainey about her? Last spring they had gone out exactly three times—twice to dinner and once to a movie. Six whole months had passed and she was still bitter about their “breakup.” What Beck didn’t understand was, how could they have broken up when they never got together in the first place? They had nothing in common and couldn’t dredge up enough conversation to get through a meal. Why, they hadn’t even…

Anyway, maybe he should just leave it alone for now. Francine was smart and sensible. She’d come around eventually.

Another thing he wasn’t about to tell Rainey: that despite his reputation he hadn’t gotten down to business with any woman for nearly two years. He was hungry for a woman’s touch, her taste, her scent. But not just any woman…

Lord knew it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. It was just that…hell, there just wasn’t anybody he wanted to be with. Meaningless, short-term stuff. Man, he was tired of that routine. The mindless chitchat over dinner. The slow buildup to the big question: So, when do you get your inheritance, Beck? And by the way, exactly how much money is it? Not that I’m interested, or anything.

And then, worst of all, the hurried, halfhearted sex that left him wanting more. What more he wasn’t exactly sure—but there had to be something more.

The last of his whiskers shed, Beck washed his still-bloody face, rinsed the razor and put it away. Whistling, he raked a comb through his hair and donned a pair of clean khakis and a turtleneck sweater. Satisfied that he was at least passably presentable, even with the goofy tissue paper, he stepped into the hall.

And came face-to-face with an angel.

Grimacing and wringing her hands, Rainey stood before him in a long green linen dress. Sleeveless and collarless, it fell in a straight line from her slender shoulders to the tops of her thin-strapped black sandals. From there it was slit up both sides to her bare knees. A black enamel pin and a slender black bracelet completed the ensemble.

“Wow!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, Beck.” Her expression was tortured. “Do you think it’s okay? I mean, it’s really a summer dress…”

“I think it’s more than okay,” he confirmed with an appreciative nod. “I think it’s spectacular.”

“Oh, Beck.” She managed a small smile. Her hair shone and her lips glistened with a pale-pink glossiness. Despite her anxiety, she had a girlish glow on. It was just about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Before he could stop them, his eyes took a good long look at the swelling of those more-than-generous breasts beneath the pale green sheath, and the graceful curves leading down to those luscious hips. He had no trouble picturing her without the dress. No trouble at all.

Restraint, he silently reminded himself. Restraint, Beck.

“You look wonderful, too,” she said sweetly.

Beck eyed her suspiciously. In the past three days she had swung all the way from snarling at him to almost treating him like a human being. What was going on?

The doorbell sounded and he winked at her. “It’s show time!” Rainey took a sharp breath and expelled it slowly.

“Beck, darling,” his tiny, feisty grandmother chirped as he let her into the apartment, “you’re as handsome as ever!” As usual, she was overdressed and over-coifed, her mauve suit, pink shoes and blue-tinted hair a medley of clashing pastels.

“Thanks, Grandma,” he said as she brushed past him and made a beeline straight for Rainey. Smiling as sweetly as only a crafty old lady can smile, she held out her jeweled hands and clasped the sides of Rainey’s bare arms. “Why, aren’t you just the prettiest thing!”

Rainey beamed—and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“I’m delighted to meet you at last. Your aunt Lilly always said such nice things about you. I can see now that she wasn’t exaggerating.” With that, her watery eyes clouded over with sadness. “Oh, I miss her so much,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A stroke. And she was only eighty-four. It’s tragic.”

Beck rolled his eyes. He loved his grandmother, but her penchant for melodrama bordered on being insufferable.

Rainey, immediately smitten, murmured, “I miss her, too, Mrs. Mahoney.”

Old Flo pursed her lips. “Oh, please. Call me Flo. We don’t need formalities here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” Rainey cried. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Flo’s frown quickly gave way to a sugary smile. “Well now, isn’t that just the mark of a well-raised young lady. I’ll tell you what. Call me Grandma then.” She flashed Beck a disgusted look. “These Mahoney boys, they just don’t seem to be able to produce girls. It will be a pleasure to have you as my granddaughter.”

Beck nearly gagged. “Tea, ladies?”

“Only if there’s a little gin to go with it,” his grandmother replied as she and Rainey moved into the living room.

Beck sauntered into the kitchen and looked around for the kettle. Dammit, where had Rainey put the stupid thing? If they couldn’t manage a pot of tea, how were they going to manage a marriage and a renovation?

After a tedious search, he finally found it, along with the tea bags. Standing at the sink, he overheard the women chatting amiably about the weather, and Rainey’s dress—so flattering!—and her new responsibilities. And, of course, the Women of the Wapiti. Rainey simply would have to join the club as soon as possible. They needed some young blood.

Leaning against the counter, Beck took a deep breath. Good Lord, how were they going to broach the subject of the marriage? And how about that five-day engagement, huh? Hell, in Flo’s day, two years were considered scandalous. No doubt about it, the old girl was going to be appalled. Not to mention highly suspicious. After all, she was the trustee. She controlled the cash—and Beck along with it.

As the kettle began to whistle, his conscience finally kicked in. Man alive, how could he lie to his own grandmother? What kind of cad did that? Of course, he rationalized, he wasn’t really lying. Not totally, anyway. He was attracted to Rainey and he did, for whatever warped reason, want to marry her.

Summoning all the courage he could muster, he went into the living room, sat down across from the women, and cleared his throat. They stopped chattering and stared expectantly at him.

“Ah, Grandma,” he began, his throat suddenly dry, his palms sweating, “Rainey and I have something to tell you. We’ve, ah, we’ve…” Desperate, he glanced at Rainey for help, but she looked away and nervously licked her lips. “We’ve—we’re—we’ve decided to marry!” He braced himself for the explosion.

It didn’t come.

Instead, before his very eyes, Florence Mahoney’s funny little face lit up like a neon sign and she gasped—with sheer delight. “Oh, my, now isn’t that just the best news I have ever heard! Let me be the first to congratulate both of you.”

“Wh-whaaat…?” Beck stammered.

“Thank you.” Rainey’s green eyes widened in disbelief. From behind Flo’s back she locked eyes with Beck, shook her head slightly and silently mouthed words he couldn’t decipher. He had warned her to expect the worst. Now she was just as baffled as he was.

“Um, as you know,” Beck blundered on, “we met just a few days ago….”

“Oh, don’t bother to explain,” Flo urged with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It must have been love at first sight. How wonderfully, delightfully romantic!”

Okay, Beck was thunderstruck now. How many times had she warned him that there was no such thing as love at first sight? About a million times, that’s how many.

Flo made a big show of checking her watch. “Oh, my, would you just look at the time.” In defiance of her advanced years, she sprang to her feet like an athlete and sprinted for the door. “I have to run along now, children. The club is meeting tonight to plan the winter festival.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Rainey called out to her retreating back.

“It was lovely to meet you, too, dear,” Flo replied.

The moment he closed the door behind her, Beck spun around and whispered harshly, “I don’t get it! Something funny is going on here.”

“I know,” Rainey said. “You’re bleeding.”

6

“WHO HAS THE RINGS?”

The marriage of Rainey Ann Miller, only child of Laura and Jonathan Miller of Toronto, to Beckett Lee Mahoney, youngest child of Martha and Earl Mahoney of Edmonton, took place at 4:00 p.m. on the third Saturday in September, in Rainey’s apartment. The bride wore beige silk. The groom wore gray flannel. There were no flowers and no bridesmaids. There would be no babies, and definitely no minivan.

Charles T. Longhorn, chief commissioner of the town of Bragg Creek, officiated. Freda Norman and Hollis Harriman, also of Bragg Creek, served as witnesses. When Mr. Longhorn asked if anyone present could say why this young couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, Rainey and Beck simultaneously spun around and glared at the witnesses.

Withering under their collective heat, Mrs. Norman and her twitching sidekick struggled to maintain straight faces. Hollis quickly lost the battle and collapsed into a fit of giggles. Scowling, Mrs. Norman jabbed him in the ribs. “Get a grip there, Holly!” As he doubled over in pain, a little smile tugged at the corner of her own lips.

“Who has the rings?” Mr. Longhorn asked again. Beck fished in his pocket for the plain gold bands they had hastily purchased that morning at the local jewelry shop. Fumbling slightly, they managed to get them on.

When Mr. Longhorn announced, “You may now kiss the bride,” Rainey turned nervously toward Beck. Make it good, her eyes told him. People are watching. In truth, she didn’t care who was present. If ever she had an excuse to kiss Beck, this was definitely it.

All too happy to oblige, he put his arms around her and drew her close. She followed suit. While the others smiled benevolently, they joined lips, gently at first, then insistently. Beck’s right hand came up to cup the back of her head, and his tongue snaked into her mouth. Rainey moaned softly. Oblivious of their bug-eyed audience, they let the kiss go on for a very long time.

At one point, Beck actually pulled back for air, then, moaning and whispering gibberish, kissed her again, even more deeply than the first time.

Out of patience, the commissioner cleared his throat and solemnly intoned, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The bride and groom ignored him. They were drowning in the depths of something so strong, so powerful, that when they finally did pull away, it left them both panting and trembling.

“Wow!” Beck exclaimed. “Maybe we should get married again tomorrow!”

In the front of her mind, Rainey thought, Hmm, now that’s a kiss. In the back, she thought: Take that, Trevor! You rat!

After the ceremony, Mr. Longhorn offered best wishes for a long and happy life together, which prompted another round of giggles, then showed himself out. Mrs. Norman and a still-twittering Hollis went back to work. Alone with Beck, Rainey suddenly grew self-conscious.

“Well,” she stammered, avoiding his eyes, “I guess it’s time to clear out of here.” She walked into the bedroom and began to gather her loose things. As she was dropping them into the biggest of her two suitcases, Beck leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms.

“So,” he said, utterly, predictably, true to form, “we’re on our honeymoon.”

Rainey looked up sharply. She had been expecting this little scene—though not quite this soon. “Oh, no, we’re not, Beck Mahoney. This is strictly a business arrangement. You know that.”

“Hmmm.” He went on watching her, his eyes sliding provocatively over every inch of her. Rainey could feel them undressing her, even from across the room. Goose bumps formed on her skin.

“You know, I’m not opposed to mixing business with pleasure,” he said quietly.

Okay, that was enough. “Look Beck, we made a deal. Separate bedrooms. You agreed.”

He snorted. “Well, I don’t know, Rainey. I mean, agreed is a pretty strong word. I went along with it. I’ll give you that.”

“Uh-huh, and you’re going to continue to go along with it.”

“Tell me you’re not attracted to me,” he teased.

With an exasperated sigh, Rainey closed the suitcase, picked it up and walked toward him. “Beck, there isn’t a woman alive who isn’t attracted to you.”

He wagged a finger at her. “That’s not an answer.” He took the suitcase from her and set it down behind him, barricading both of them into the room.

Hands on hips, she stared him down. “Okay, then, I’m not attracted to you.”

“Liar.” He grinned.

“I am not lying!” Actually, as much as Rainey resisted the idea, she was attracted to him. Hopelessly. But so were nine-tenths of the women around here. And, attraction could be a deadly thing. Nobody knew that better than she did.

He nodded toward the living room. “We generated a little heat in there, Rainey. You felt it, too. I know you did.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Was there no limit to his arrogance? Maybe they shouldn’t have just plunged into this thing. Maybe, in addition to the prenuptial agreement Nate Frome had drafted, they should have drawn up another contract. One that spelled out the guidelines. Defined the parameters. Laid down the rules. Of course, how could they? As far as Nate and everyone else was concerned, there were no rules.