Mr. Imperfect(3)

"Maybe. If you can come up with a good enough business plan to satisfy the bank and follow it up with solid results."

"I'll give you the money you need." She'd forgotten Christian was there,  half hidden by the side wings of an old green leather chair.

"No." Her response was instinctive; her brain caught up and approved it seconds later.

Christian looked at Don. "How much is it? I'll write a check now."

"I said no, Christian. I don't want your money."

"I'm not doing this for you, Kezia. I'm doing it for Muriel."

"Muriel won't take your money, either," said Don. "It's specified in the  will." He put on his glasses and read, "'Christian Kelly is prohibited  from paying off the hotel's debts.' This, I think, is where I give you  her letter."

Christian looked at Muriel's familiar flourish and swallowed a lump in  his throat. She'd written to him weekly for fourteen years. This would  be the last letter he ever received from her.

My darling, you're wondering why I won't let you pay off my debt. Too  bad, I'm not going to tell you! I ask instead that you stay in town-yes,  I know you hate it but it's just a few weeks-and help Kezia come up  with a plan to reverse the hotel's fortunes. The place needs an  entrepreneur's skill if it's to survive another hundred years. Tell  Kezia I'm sorry I've left things in such a mess but it seemed necessary.  God bless you both, my darlings, Muriel.                       
       
           



       



Christian handed it to Kezia without a word. It seemed necessary? What  was Muriel playing at? Had she forgotten he had a multimillion-dollar  business to run? Okay, his two partners could carry him for a couple of  weeks, but to come back here-a place haunted by memories, most of them  bad …  He shuddered. Immediately he began thinking of ways to circumvent  the will. Hell, if a hotel and tourism magnate couldn't outwit an old  lady, he deserved this penance.

With grim amusement he watched Kezia's face as she read the letter,  before she became aware of his scrutiny and turned away. When she turned  back, her expression reflected his resolve. Implacable resistance.  "You're off the hook. I refuse your help."

Just what Christian wanted to hear. Still, he was inexplicably annoyed.  "I don't want to be involved any more than you want me to be, but it  would be respectful to at least consider her last wishes." He ignored  the fact that he had been doing no such thing.

Kezia thrust out the letter, waited until he took it. "I can manage on  my own." It had always been her mantra-more than that, the truth. Now  the words rang hollow, but she couldn't allow Christian back into her  life. And she wouldn't cry in front of him, though she wanted to, very  badly. Worse than the prospect of losing her heritage was realizing her  grandmother hadn't trusted her enough to confide her troubles. She  lifted her hand to her heart and pressed against the almost physical  surge of pain.

"Don, more whiskey." Christian guided her to a couch with gentle hands,  while the older man hurried from the room in search of the bottle.  "Relax." His breath was warm on the nape of her neck. "I have no  intention of coming back."

"Thank God!" He looked startled at her vehemence and Kezia added  impatiently, "Surely you realize she's trying to force us together to  salvage a happy-ever-after out of this mess. Why else would she have  that curious clause refusing your money?"

He stared at her and she saw with relief they were in perfect accord on this one.

"It must be nice to die with some illusions intact," he commented.

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shook his head as though to clear it. "Nothing. Look, let me find a  way to give you the money, Kez, then I can leave with a clear  conscience."

She resisted the urge to ask when a clear conscience had become  necessary to him; the scars had been picked at enough. "Okay, but it's a  bridging loan. Once the hotel is back on its feet, I'll arrange a  repayment schedule that will include backdated interest pegged at  today's rate."

He looked amused. "Whatever."

"I'm serious, Christian."

"Look-" he raked a hand through his hair "-don't tie yourself into  unnecessary debt, take the money as a gift. You must know I won't miss  it."

She did know, but it made no difference. Favors were something she did  for other people. Accepting hundreds of thousands of dollars from  Christian, the man who'd deserted her, was unthinkable. Simple as that.

Less simple was when she'd be able to pay it back. But that was  tomorrow's problem. At least she'd have her home, her heritage, intact.

"I want a business arrangement but … thanks for the offer." She wished  he'd move. The scent of him-crisp linen overlaying healthy male heat, a  hint of cedarwood-was making her dizzy.

Don came back with a silver tray bearing their drinks. Reluctantly,  Kezia took a sip for medicinal purposes, trying to remember when she'd  last eaten. She had no taste for whiskey, but the association with her  grandmother was comforting. She took another, inhaling the smoky  sharpness like smelling salts.

Christian declined his drink. "I'm driving," he said. "Don, you should know I intend to find a way to lend Kezia the money."

"Muriel thought you would," said Don calmly, and reached for another envelope on his desk. "Here."

Irritated, Christian pulled out a scrap of paper. "What is this, Give Us  A Clue?" He glanced down at it and the color drained from his face.  "Damn."

Foreboding hit Kezia like a rolling winter fog. "What?"

Still he gazed down at the note, his expression remote yet curiously  softened. "Damn," he said again, and shoved it into his pocket.

She knew what he was going to say, could see it in his eyes, could feel  the prickle of tears in her own. It seemed she would cry in front of  Christian Kelly, after all.

"Hi, honey," he said grimly. "I'm home."                       
       
           



       

Kezia began to laugh. She laughed until she cried.





CHAPTER TWO




ONE SHUDDERING SOB led to another and then another until her body  convulsed under the force of them and she curled up on the couch like a  lost child, her arms wrapped around her knees. Christian reached for  her, but with shaking hands she pushed him away, did the same to Don.

"Let me get someone-a friend," Christian offered.

Terror strafed through her grief. "No! I don't want to be seen like  this." A fresh paroxysm racked her body. "Please, both of you go away,"  she sobbed, then laid her head on her knees and gave herself over to the  anguish.

Dimly she heard a murmur of voices, the door open and close again, the  scrape of a chair. And Christian was sitting next to her.  "I … don't … want … anyone … here!" she said between sobs, but took the  handkerchief he offered.

"I know," he said soothingly. "I'm temporary."

"Don't touch me."

"I won't," he promised. "I'll just sit here."

And he did, watching the shadows lengthen in the room, listening to her  sobs until they abated and, emotionally exhausted, she slept. And all  the while he suffered, resisting grief, resisting Kezia. He sat stiff  and unyielding in his chair. He would not be moved by her beyond common  pity.

When he stirred at last, his muscles ached like a prizefighter's. But  he'd won. He stretched as he turned on a lamp against the encroaching  dusk, found a throw and covered Kezia.

His opponent looked worse, her face blotchy, her closed lids swollen. In  the circle of light her disheveled hair gleamed with velvet browns and  sparks of amber. Just as her eyes did, he remembered, and because she  looked so vulnerable, so un-Kezia, he smoothed her knotted brow.

An unexpected blow to the heart made him step back, shove his hands into  his pockets. His fingers brushed the crumpled ball of paper and,  swearing softly, he pulled it out of his pocket, smoothed the creases  and glared at it.

Nothing complicated about it, just a scrap of a page torn from an  exercise book. The IOU had been dated and signed, the letters sprawling  loose and untidy across the page. His signature hadn't changed much in  sixteen years.

You conniving, brilliant old woman. You got me good.

With a sigh he opened the door, saw Don and Bernice May and a host of  other anxious people-many familiar-staring at him. He fought back a  sense of claustrophobia and nodded acknowledgments. "She's sleeping, but  I doubt she'll want a welcoming party when she wakes. Perhaps just you,  Don?"

He drew the older man away, ostensibly to talk privately, but moving  closer to the pub's exit. He was in no mood to renew old acquaintances.  Plenty of time for that in the following weeks, he thought bleakly.  "I'll be back when I've reorganized my affairs. I'm sure Muriel's bank  will allow us a few weeks'grace."