“And that will make Global Village surrender to his demands?” Cleo asked.
Kimberly shrugged. “Probably. They want him very badly.”
Cleo looked at Max. “Nice to be wanted, isn't it?”
“Depends on who wants you.” Max's gaze was unwavering.
Kimberly stopped pacing for a moment. “I wondered why Max turned down my father's offer to come back to Curzon. Now I know why. The CEO slot at Global Village probably looks a good deal more tempting. Max likes to be in charge. At Curzon he'd always be battling the family for control. But at Global Village he can be the one in command.”
Cleo used a linen napkin to blot a drop of syrup from the corner of her mouth. When that didn't do the trick, she used the tip of her tongue. “When did you first talk to Global Village, Max?”
“The day I went into town with Ben to get some stuff at the hardware store.” His eyes willed her to believe him.
Cleo took a deep breath. “That would be about a week after you had accepted my offer of employment.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say to them?”
“That I wasn't interested in any position at Global Village,” Max said quietly.
“Not even the CEO slot?” Cleo asked.
“No. Not even the CEO slot.”
Cleo smiled tremulously. “I guess that means you're still working for me, doesn't it?”
“Yes.” Max's eyes were brilliant with an emotion that was not reflected in his voice. “I'm still working for you. I have no plans to quit.”
“I thought so,” Cleo said. “Well, that settles that little problem, doesn't it? Stop worrying, Kimberly. Max isn't going to work for the competition.”
She got up to pour herself a cup of coffee. She wanted to make the action look as nonchalant as Kimberly had earlier, but that plan went out the window when she had to hunt for a cup.
“Second cupboard on the left,” Kimberly said coldly.
Cleo set her teeth. “Thank you.”
“I can't figure you out.” Kimberly eyed her warily. “Originally I thought you were just naive and rather unsophisticated. But right now I'm starting to wonder if there's more to you than meets the eye.”
“You mean you're wondering if I'm as dumb as I look?” Cleo asked innocently. “Max had a problem with that in the beginning, too. I wonder what it is about me that gives that impression? Do you think it's the sneakers?” She glanced down at the silver sneakers she was wearing. €œMaybe I should do something about my image.”
“What sort of game are you playing, Cleo? Do you really think you can control Max?” Kimberly's gaze was bright with speculation. “If you're planning to use him to build an empire for you, I'd advice caution. If Max creates an empire, you can bet he'll be the one who owns and runs it. In the end you'll be left with nothing.”
Cleo blew on her coffee. “I'm not trying to build an empire. I'm just trying to run an inn. Good help is hard to find. I was lucky to get Max.”
“Don't give me that. We both know you can't possibly afford him.”
“All I know is that the offer I made to him was accepted.” Cleo looked at Max. “Wasn't it?”
Max smiled faintly for the first time since Kimberly had arrived. His eyes were gleaming. “Yes.”
Kimberly scowled at Cleo. “Damn it, what's going on here? There's no way you could match an offer from Global Village or Curzon International.”
“You're wrong,” Cleo said softly. “Robbins' Nest Inn has something to offer Max that neither you nor Global Village can possibly match.”
Kimberly's smile was laced with scorn. “And just what would that be, Cleo? You? Do you really think that Max would walk away from a CEO slot or a vice presidency with corporations like Global Village or Curzon for you or any other woman?”
“No,” Cleo said. “Not just for me alone. But I think he'd do it for what comes along with me.”
“Robbins' Nest Inn?”
“No,” Cleo said. “A family.”
“You're out of your mind.” Kimberly stared at her in astonishment. “What would Max want with a family?”
“For one thing,” Cleo said, “he won't have to worry about the occasional screwup.”
“What are you talking about?” Kimberly looked at her blankly.
Cleo took a sip of coffee. “With us Max knows that even if he fails to live up to his amazing reputation once in a while, we'll still want him around. He's one of us whether he screws up or not.”
Kimberly's mouth opened on a soundless exclamation. When she could not find the words she sought, she turned to Max.
“All right,” she said, “I give up. I can't figure out what's going on here, but it's obvious you've got things in the palm of your hand, as usual. I assume that sooner or later we'll all find out what your agenda is, Max.”
“There's no hidden agenda,” Max said quietly. “Cleo told you the truth. I'm working for her. I'm not open to outside offers. You may congratulate me on my engagement, and then you may leave.”
Kimberly gave him a disgusted look. “Congratulations.” She turned around and walked to the door.
Silence descended on the breakfast room.
Max looked at Cleo. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Sure.” Cleo ladled up another spoonful of batter. “Want a waffle?”
“Among other things,” Max said. His glance went to the pot of honey that sat in the middle of the table.
Cleo gave him a severe frown. “Don't get any ideas. That scene with the honey in The Mirror was pure fantasy.”
“My specialty is turning fantasy into reality.”
“Forget it. Too sticky.”
“Let me worry about the technical details.” Max smiled slowly. He picked up the pot of honey.
Cleo forgot about the next waffle.
A cold rain began to fall just as Max and Cleo emerged from an antiquarian bookshop in Pioneer Square. Cleo flicked open her umbrella. Her silver sneakers were getting soaked.
“It's pouring. Let's go back to your place,” she suggested.
“I've got a better idea.” Max took the umbrella from her and held it aloft so that it shielded both of them. When his fingers brushed against hers he glanced with approval at the emerald ring he had put on her finger an hour earlier. “There's an interesting little gallery around the corner. We can get out of the rain for a while in there.”
“I'll bet this gallery doesn't hang any nice pictures of dogs or horses or seascapes,” Cleo muttered. They had already been in three other galleries, and none of them had featured the sort of art she liked. All the owners knew Max on sight.
“The day this place hangs a picture of a spaniel will be the day I stop buying art here.” Max took a possessive grip on Cleo's arm and shepherded her into the white-walled gallery.
Cleo studied the collection of mostly dark, mostly bleak, mostly gray and brown paintings with an unimpressed eye. She wrinkled her nose at Max. “I really don't understand what you see in this stuff.”
Max took in the paintings on display with a single, sweeping glance. “If it's any consolation, I don't see anything at all in this batch.”
“Good.” Cleo grinned. “There's hope for you yet.”
A shining, bald head popped up from behind the counter. “Max, my friend.” A heavy-set middle-aged man dressed entirely in black smiled widely. “Long time, no see. Where have you been? I've left half a dozen messages with your office telling you to call me as soon as possible. Did you get them?”
“No,” Max said. “I'm no longer working for Curzon. Walter, I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Cleo Robbins. Cleo, this is Walter Stickley. He owns this gallery.”
“How do you do?” Cleo said.
“My pleasure.” Walter's eyes lit with curiosity. He glanced at Max. “Engaged, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations. And you say you've left Curzon?”
“That's r
ight. I'm with another firm now.”
“That explains why I haven't been able to reach you. I'm glad you decided to drop in today.” Walter rubbed his palms together. “I was just about to start making a few phone calls to other clients.”
“What have you got to show me?” Max gave the paintings on display another dismissing glance. “I don't see anything very interesting here.”
Walter chuckled. “You know I always keep the good stuff in the back room. Follow me.”
He came out from behind the counter and led the way down a short hall to a closed door. He opened it and waved Cleo and Max inside.
Cleo took a quick look at the large canvas leaning against the wall and rolled her eyes. This picture was bleaker, more savage, and admittedly more interesting than the ones that were hanging in the outer room, but she didn't like it any better than she had the others.
“Yuk,” Cleo said.
Walter shot her a scathing glance. “Philistine.”
“She likes pictures of dogs and horses,” Max said absently. He was staring at the painting with rapt attention.
“And seascapes,” Cleo added. “I'm very fond of seascapes.”
“I don't carry that sort of thing,” Walter said stiffly.
“I noticed.” Cleo watched Max. “You okay, Max? You look a little strange.” She wondered uneasily if he were looking into one of his own nightmares.
“I'm fine,” Max said softly. “Who's the artist, Walter? I don't recognize the style.”
“A recent discovery of mine,” Walter said smugly. “His name is David Verrier. What do you think?”
“I'll take it. Can you get it delivered this afternoon? I'm leaving town tomorrow.”
“No problem.” Walter rubbed his hands together and chortled knowingly. “Thought you'd like it. Five years from now Verrier is going to be worth a mint.”
“Yes,” Max said. He was still gazing into the painting. “Call me as soon as you get anything else from him. I'll leave you my new number.”
“Of course,” Walter said happily. “Yours will be the first name on my list.”
“Mine will be the only name on your list,” Max said.
Walter cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. The only name. But see here, Max. Verrier needs a chance to gain some exposure. You can't grab everything he does and lock it up before the art world has an opportunity to see his work. I want to be able to give him some shows. He deserves the recognition.”
Max did not look pleased, but he nodded reluctantly. “All right. You can show his pictures. But I get first crack at whatever he produces.”
“It's a deal.”
Cleo tipped her head to one side and studied the canvas from a different angle. When that didn't make it any more cheerful, she walked to another corner of the room and peered at it from there. Then she crouched down and tried again from another vantage point.
“Okay, Max, tell me what you see in that picture,” she said. “It looks like the bottom of a bucket of black paint to me.”
Walter cringed. “Did you say you're going to marry this…this person, Max?”
“Yes.” Max finally tore his gaze away from the picture. He smiled. “She doesn't know much about art, but she knows what she likes.”
“I see.” Walter's eyes glittered. “By the way, Max, there are rumors floating around.”
“Rumors about what?” Max asked without any real show of interest.
“About five Amos Luttrell paintings that have recently disappeared,” Walter said softly. “You wouldn't know anything about them, would you?”
“I know that they belong to me,” Max said.
“Uh, yes. I suspected you'd say something like that.” Walter pursed his lips. “But there appears to be some question of ownership.”
Max's mouth curved in a humorless smile. “There's no question at all about who owns the Luttrells, Walter.”
Walter cleared his throat. “The story I heard involves Garrison Spark. Word is, he's on the trail of the Luttrells. He's got a client who will pay a quarter of a million for them. He's also got a bill of sale from Jason Curzon. He claims it predates the will.”
“The bill of sale, if it exists, is a forgery.” Max's eyes met Walter's. “We both know it wouldn't be the first forgery Spark has handled, don't we?”
Walter smiled wryly. “Point taken.”
The following afternoon Cleo sat beside Max in the Jaguar and watched with trepidation as Harmony Cove came into sight. “I wonder if the city council will have roadblocks up at the entrance to town to prevent me from coming back.”
“Relax, Cleo. No one's going to be upset about the fact that you wrote a book.”
“Nolan was.”
“Nolan's an ass.”
“Yes, well, I'm afraid he's not the only ass in Harmony Cove.” Cleo twisted the ring on her finger. She was very conscious of its weight. “By now I suppose O'Reilly has talked to everyone.”
“Probably. O'Reilly is very thorough.”
“I don't know if this was such a good idea, Max.”
He slanted her a sidelong glance. “You think letting that stalker get closer and closer is a better idea?”
“Well, no, but I have to live here in Harmony Cove after this is all over. I don't want people staring at me. I had my fill of curiosity seekers after my parents died.”
“I'll keep the curiosity seekers at bay,” Max promised softly.
She saw the grim line of his jaw and knew he meant every word. Cleo relaxed slightly. With Max by her side no one was going to give her too much trouble. “I may have to give you a raise.”
“I'll take it out in Daystar's cornbread muffins.”
Max slowed the Jaguar as they drove through Harmony Cove's block-long downtown district. A woman waved at them from the entrance to the grocery store.
Cleo waved back. “At least Mrs. Gibson doesn't look like she wants to paint a large red A on my forehead.”
“Who's Mrs. Gibson?”
“She owns the little bookshop on the corner.”
Max smiled. “She's probably ordered several copies of The Mirror in anticipation of the rush.”
“Oh, geez, Max. This is going to be awful.” Cleo fiddled nervously with the car phone.
“Put down the phone and stop panicking.” Max slowed the Jaguar still further and turned into the grocery store parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Cleo yelped in alarm.
“We're going to get the worst of this over with in a hurry so you'll stop working yourself up into a lather.”
“Max, I don't need anything at the grocery store.”
“We'll find something.” Max slid the Jaguar neatly into one of the parking spaces and opened the door on his side.
Cleo made no move to unfasten her seatbelt. Max walked around to her side of the car and opened the door.
“Come on, Cleo. This isn't going to be that bad.”
“I don't want to deal with this yet.”
“You're going to have to deal with it sometime.”
“I know. But I don't want to do it today,” Cleo insisted.
“Get out of the car, Cleo,” Max said gently, “or I will peel you out of there and carry you inside the damn grocery store.”
She looked at him with mute defiance. Max's expression was even more stubborn than her own. She knew he was right. Sooner or later she was going to have to face the people of Harmony Cove.
“All right, let's get this over with.” Cleo unbuckled the seatbelt and exploded out of the car. She stormed past Max.
“That's my brave Cleopatra,” Max muttered.
Already halfway to the door, Cleo stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. She scowled when she realized that she had left Max behind in the dust.
“I'm not going in there alone,” she said.
“Then you'll have to slow down a bit.” Max reached her side and took her arm. “I don't run except in cases of acute emergency and this is not one of those cases.”
“You can
move fast enough when you want to,” Cleo grumbled. “I've seen you go up and down the stairs at the inn as rapidly as any of the rest of us. Max, are you sure we have to do this?”
“I can't believe you're this nervous about it.” Max pushed open the glass door of the grocery store and shoved her gently ahead of him. “You're here for milk.”
“We don't need milk. We get a dairy delivery twice a week at the inn,” Cleo muttered.
“Today you need milk.”
Cleo felt the eyes as soon as she stepped into the familiar surroundings of the store. Everyone from the stock boy to the counter clerk looked at her as if they had never seen her before in their lives. They all waved enthusiastically.
Cleo ducked her head and hurried toward the dairy case.
The young man stocking milk and cottage cheese smiled tentatively at her. “Hi, Ms. Robbins.”
“Hi, Tom. How are you today?” Thankful for Max's reassuring presence, Cleo opened the glass door and yanked out a quart of skim.
“Fine. I heard someone was pestering you on account of you wrote a book. Is that true?”
Cleo's fingers trembled around the carton of milk. “Yes.”
“Real sorry to hear someone's bothering you. Hope they catch him.”
“Thank you, Tom.”
“Say, I was, uh, wondering.” Tom cast a surreptitious look up and down the aisle and sidled closer.
Cleo steeled herself. “What were you wondering, Tom?”
“About the book you wrote.”
Cleo's stomach tightened. “Yes?”
“I, uh, I've been thinking about writing a book myself.”
Cleo blinked. “You have?”
Tom nodded urgently and turned a bright shade of red. “Yeah, it's science fiction, y'know?”
“I see,” Cleo said uncertainly. “That's great. Good luck with it.”
Tom brightened at the encouragement. “It's an alternate world story, see. There's a lot of stuff in it that's similar to our world, but the basic laws of science are different. More like magic, y'know.”
“Uh-huh.” Cleo took a step back.