Holiday Man (4 page)

He could hear the flipping of calendars and the click of computer keys as she checked all possible sources of meetings, appointments, etc. He didn’t see anything listed on his
iPhone
for Easter weekend, but his schedule changed daily.

“I see a trip to London blocked in for the week prior, sir, but Easter weekend looks open at present. Do you want me to book something for you?”

“No, no. Thanks, Miranda. I’ll take care of it. Just keep it clear for me.”

If a journey of a thousand miles began with a single step, this one was his. He’d visit Holiday Quinn in April, see Little Miss Shannon again and make damn sure something happen between them this time.

And why the hell not? It was just one weekend. And, after all his hopping from one continent to the next, he figured the Easter Bunny had to be on his side.

***

Shannon slipped out of The Ashland Hotel and meandered down the quiet street. A few fat snowflakes fell and she caught them in her mittens.

So calm tonight. So peaceful. And so lonely.

St. Patrick’s Day used to be such a noisy family holiday, what with all the relatives, neighbors and friends showing up to share in it. She’d been too young then to realize how much she’d miss that later in life. How alone she’d be someday.

For maybe the three-millionth time she wished she’d had a sibling. Of any variety. A big brother. A kid sister. Even a step-sibling. Anyone she could count on to stay in her life. This only-child thing stank.

Her car sat conveniently parked across the street, but she couldn’t bring herself to return to the depressing, post-holiday silence of the inn just yet, not after such a spirited evening with Margaret. She needed to connect. With somebody. Then she remembered.

She dashed a block and a half down the snowy sidewalk and tapped on the window of Arpeggios, the secondhand music store Jake managed in between the big holiday weekends.

“Hey, Jake!”

The sign on the door read “Closed,” but she could see him through the glass pane, laughing with another guy.

He spotted her and motioned her in. “It’s not locked,” he called out.

“How are you?” Shannon said, brushing off a few remaining snowflakes and letting the friendly warmth of shop cover her like a winter’s coat. Bing was crooning “Danny Boy” from the in-store speakers, and Jake pointed to the younger man who stood across from him.

“My cousin,” he said. “Evan, meet Shannon. Shannon, Evan.”

As they said their hellos, Jake’s college-aged cousin eyed her curiously. “Shannon Quinn?” he asked. “THE Shannon?”

“Umm…” She glanced at Jake, who was smirking from behind a
Sinaid
O’Connor CD. What the heck was she supposed to say to that? “I imagine so. Why?”

Evan, whose fair complexion seemed capable of showing every change of emotion, turned pinkish. “I’ve heard about you,” he informed her. “Jake calls you The Babe behind your back.”

“Shut up, Evan!” Jake said, swatting him with the CD. “That’s not true.” Then he speared her with one of his most flirtatious grins. “I call her that to her face sometimes, too. Right, Shannon?”

She laughed. “That’s right, but your aptitude for flattery is legendary at the inn. No one believes anything you say.”

He waggled his brows. “Well, they ought to, babe.”

She rolled her eyes. The guy never knew when to stop. “Oh, cut it out. So, what are you two up to tonight?”

Jake shrugged. “Just closing up here then heading down to Green Bay for a little Irish revelry.
Wanna
join us?”

Shannon looked between the two men and shook her head. “Tempting, but no thanks. I’ve got to work at The Ashland in the morning. But—” she turned to Evan, “have boatloads of fun. And try to keep that wild older cousin of yours in line.”

Evan’s complexion turned a darker pink this time. “Oh, I don’t think that’s on the agenda, Shannon. But it was nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled at him. “Likewise.”

Jake chuckled and walked her to the door. “Drive home safe, babe.” Then, lowering his voice so his cousin wouldn’t overhear, he whispered, “Just say the word, Shannon, and I’ll go to Holiday Quinn with you instead.”

For a split second he looked every one of his twenty-six years and fully serious. And for a split second she actually considered his offer. But Jake was a friend and an occasional employee. And, though he was attractive, he wasn’t the man who’d been gracing her dreams at night.

So, instead, she shook her index finger at him and said in her most scolding tone, “Try not to break too many hearts tonight, Jake
Marcolis
. I need you to help me prepare for Easter at the inn in a few weeks, and I don’t want to have to identify your body after some angry Irish babe in Green Bay gets through with you.”

This made him laugh, as she’d hoped, and she escaped the shop without any further suggestiveness on his part. Jake was easy to brush off that way, which only proved there was little real feeling behind his proclamations of attraction.

Too bad, really. That he couldn’t act more sincerely toward her. That she couldn’t feel more affectionately toward him. Why wasn’t romance more convenient?

Shannon hopped into her car and drove the few miles back to the stretch of land nearby that she’d always called home.

But, even once she’d turned up the heat in her private room at the inn and made herself a hot cup of tea to combat the cold, she couldn’t quite shake the chill of loneliness, and she found herself on the verge of regretting her inability to take Jake up on his offer of nighttime companionship.

Yes, she wanted something more for her life, but she was starting to suspect she wouldn’t find it here. Not in Holiday Quinn. Not in Door County. Maybe not even in Wisconsin. She’d been living her life in this place, to a large degree, in honor of a family that had either died or moved away. If the situation were right, she’d be open to taking some kind of a risk now…finally.

Perhaps Margaret’s offer of letting her manage another hotel in another state would be the answer after all.

Only, there were impulses inside of her—communiqués from deep within her subconscious—that were trying to bubble up. She could feel them dancing just below the surface. Daring her to acknowledge them. She didn’t quite have the energy to excavate just yet, but she knew the day would come when they’d burst out of her. It was a
toss up
as to whether she was made more excited or anxious by this prospect.

She flicked on her computer to scan messages of a different sort, and one in particular caught her eye.

Sender: Bram
Hartwick
.

He’d formally requested a room reservation for Easter weekend! King-sized bed. No smoking. Fully stocked fridge, please.
Yada
,
yada
,
yada
.

Her gaze followed his typed words down the screen, looking for the one extra detail she needed to know—not only for professional accommodation purposes, but for personal peace of mind.

Number of guests staying in the room: One.

She’d promised herself she’d take just one step. One small step toward adventure. And she’d vowed if ever Bram returned…

Shannon grinned and, for the first time in an hour, felt the tingling of heat all the way to her toenails. Seemed that Holiday Quinn, Door County and the fine state of Wisconsin had joined together to provide all of their risks in one single, dark-haired, six-foot-two package.

And, whether it turned out to be “oh, hell” or “hallelujah” over the holiday weekend ahead, that risky package was headed her way.

CHAPTER THREE

Easter

He was late,
dammit
.

Bram checked his watch. 10:35, Saturday morning. Twelve freaking hours late.

He slammed the door of his silver Lexus, strode into Holiday Quinn and marched up to the reception desk. But was Shannon there? No. Instead he came nose-to-nose with that pain-in-the-ass assistant, a clipboard in his hand, a sour expression on his face. Jake the Prick narrowed his eyes when he saw Bram coming. Bram narrowed his eyes right back.

“Bram
Hartwick
,” he informed the guy, taking particular pleasure in looking down at him. “I reserved a room for the weekend.”

Jake slowly perused the sheets on his clipboard. “Ah, yes, Mr.
Hartwick
.” He paused. “However, you were originally scheduled to arrive last night. I’m afraid we’ve given your room to another guest.”

Bram raised his eyebrows at the guy and leaned a couple of inches closer. “Then I’ll take a different room.”

Jake pursed his lips and let out an arrogant sigh. “This is quite a
popular
weekend, Mr.
Hartwick
. Our waiting list is several pages long. Guests usually make their reservations
months
in advance and, if there’s a delay in their arrival, they usually have the
courtesy
to let us know when we might expect them.” Jake tossed the clipboard on the counter and pushed it away with a bored flick of his fingers. “You can try The Ashland Hotel in town, but I don’t believe
we
have any other rooms available for this holiday. Perhaps next time.”

Jake turned away like a member of European royalty who’d just dismissed the peons. Bram had dealt with quite enough of this bullshit.

“Listen, Jake,” he began, using the tone of voice he reserved only for lousy accountants and lazy office managers, “I haven’t slept since yesterday morning, and I’ve been on the road since one a.m. I would have flown into Green Bay last night if it had been possible to charter a plane at midnight and rent a car from there, but it wasn’t. I tried.” He shot him a very steely glare. “As I’m sure you know, I sent my credit card information along with my room reservation last month, so I’d be happy to pay for the night I missed. But right now I want a room. And I want a schedule of this weekend’s Easter events.”
And, if I don’t get it, I want your fucking head on a platter.

Jake turned back and gave an apathetic shrug. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr.
Hartwick
, but—”

He’d pull him apart. Piece by snotty piece. “Now,” Bram interrupted, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Right. Now. Jake.”

A shadow of fear darkened the assistant’s green eyes, but he didn’t back away. The brave idiot. He didn’t know who he was dealing with, did he?

“We’re booked, Mr.
Hartwick
. There are no single or double rooms available. Period.”

“Really? Why is it that I don’t believe you?” Bram crossed his arms and glared at the lying bastard sitting smugly behind the counter.

“What you believe or don’t believe isn’t any of my concern,” Jake replied, fiddling with the puffy white tail of a stuffed-animal rabbit, which decorated the corner of the reception desk. “I suggest you leave, Mr.
Hartwick
.”

And I suggest you go to hell.
Bram took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something that would probably border on extremely insulting...when he heard a voice behind him.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Bram.”

He swiveled in place and saw Shannon Quinn’s beaming smile. Man, she was lovely. He’d forgotten just how much.

“Thanks, Shannon. I’m glad I could make it, too. It’s nice to see you again.” He shot a look at her assistant who, for the first time since Bram’s arrival, didn’t look disdainful, just defeated. He almost felt sorry for the jerk. Almost.

“Shannon,” Jake began, resuming his supercilious tone, “I gave this gentleman’s room to Mr. Prescott this morning. We’re filled and cannot accommodate him now.”

Shannon laughed. “Of course we can. The Astaire Suite is unoccupied. Mr.
Hartwick
may have that instead.”

Bram saw Jake’s jaw drop.

“The Astaire Suite?” the assistant said. “But it’s
huge
. It’s for honeymooners. Anniversary couples. Are you sure you want to—”

“Of course,” she said. She turned to Bram. “Unless you have a strange fear of open spaces or something, or if you believe a room of that size will make you nervous.”

“I suffer from no such phobias,” Bram said. Then, just to make his position on the matter perfectly clear, he added, “I’m greatly in favor of elbowroom at night.”

Her grin broadened. “Then it’s settled.” Shannon reached for Jake’s discarded clipboard and a pastel-colored pencil with a yellow baby chick where the eraser should be. She scribbled a few notes on the top sheet then pointed the baby chick’s head at her assistant. “Please charge Mr.
Hartwick
only the rate for the original room he reserved, Jake.”

“Why, thank you,” Bram said, impressed by her moxie and her seemingly effortless ability to put Jake the Prick in his place. The discount, though nice, was unnecessary. “I appreciate the V.I.P. treatment.”

She responded by winking at him.
Winking
, the little vixen. She took a few steps away from the desk, her auburn hair swinging in tempting waves behind her. Bram was aware of Jake watching her every move, just as he did. Neither of them seemed capable of pulling their gaze away.

 
Shannon turned for a final glance over her shoulder. “You’ve missed a few activities already, Bram,” she informed him. “But the Bakers are leading an Easter Egg Hunt at noon. Feel free to join in, if you’d like.”

And he knew right then and there that he’d search every inch of Holiday Quinn, from noon until midnight, for silly chocolate-marshmallow eggs if Shannon would be standing nearby.

“I’ll be there,” he told her. Exhausted or not.

After she walked out the door, he and Jake shared one meaningful glance that charged the air with testosterone and certainty. They both wanted to have this woman. And they both wanted to have her now.

The race was on, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with Easter eggs.

***

Shannon’s knees shook, but she hoped she’d managed to disguise it well enough.

He was here. He’d made it after all.

Yes!

She’d forgotten the controlled intensity that was Bram
Hartwick
. When she’d walked in on him and Jake, she could almost feel the room imploding. How did one man manage to upset the ions in the atmosphere simply by standing there? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t deny its truth. His intense manner was as distinctive as his signature.

She inhaled the mid-April air and drank in the Saturday sunshine. As she scanned the expansive front yard of her inn, she saw the sturdy oaks her grandfather once planted, now with colorful, wind-ruffled ribbons encircling them. The pastel bows, placed by the Bakers for the weekend festivities, added a sense of celebration to the just-awakening landscape. Even in these cold northern reaches, spring had finally come.

She clomped along the newly emerging shoots of grass on the walkway to the backyard and spotted two tall figures bounding toward her.

Darlene Baker arrived first, breathless. “We’re all set!”

Her husband Keith jogged up next to them. “We’ve got it done, Shannon dear, not a thing for you to worry about.”

“We’re so excited!” Darlene hugged herself through her thick pink windbreaker. “Thanks for letting us lead this activity. We’ve wanted—”

“To do something like this for years,” Keith concluded for her. “And we had such a blast—”

“Coloring the eggs!” his enthusiastic wife said. “Five hundred and seventy-eight of them and—”

“Then hiding them along with all of those chocolate ones,” Keith added. “Not to mention the more grown-up treats. Haven’t had this much fun since the kids were toddlers.”

Darlene grabbed Shannon’s hands in her own. “You made our weekend!”

Shannon laughed. “I wish all of my guests would insist on helping out, cheerfully doing hours of work and managing to create a finished product that looked so professional.” She paused to grin at them. “Come to think of it, I wish all of my
staff
would do the same. I’m
comping
your room for this holiday just because you’re so darned inspirational!”

“It’s our pleasure, Shannon,” Keith said, the sincerity of his words evident in his voice and his warm gray eyes.

Darlene released Shannon’s fingers and turned to her husband. “Oh, Keith! The baskets.”

Keith’s glance darted around the backyard. “We’ve still got to set up the table with the baskets,” he explained to Shannon, already striding toward the spot he and his wife had selected earlier. “See
ya
in an hour,
hon
!”

So, Shannon left them to their tasks and completed several small chores of her own. The next time she glanced down at her watch, it was five minutes to noon.

When she reached the Bakers, the yard was already swarming with animated guests of all ages, every one of them as energized as that famous TV bunny, ready to fill their baskets with colored eggs and sweet treats.

At the stroke of twelve, Darlene rang a bell to quiet the crowd. Her husband cleared his throat.

“Welcome to Holiday Quinn’s Annual Easter Egg Hunt!” Keith said.

The crowd cheered. Shannon glanced at their faces, hoping to see Bram, but he wasn’t outside. A shot of disappointment surged through her. She hadn’t wanted to admit how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him having a little child-like fun, especially since there wasn’t a thing that seemed remotely child-like about him. She’d hoped to catch a glimpse of a different side of this commanding, authoritative man.

And, well, she also just liked looking at his body.

Keith continued. “Miss Quinn has graciously allowed us to run the event a little differently this year, so we’ve decided to add a new twist to it.”

Shannon grinned. When the Bakers had suggested this change to her, she thought it might be a funny one. She was curious to see if the predominantly adult crowd thought the same.

“Any child under ten gets a basket and free rein to run and collect whatever he or she can,” Keith said. Shannon noted the giddy handful of guests that fit into this age bracket. “Everyone over ten must hunt with a partner. And only one member of the team is allowed to touch the eggs, though the other can lead and direct. One more thing—” Keith paused for dramatic effect. “The partner that picks up the eggs and puts them in the basket has to be blindfolded.”

A gasp rose from the crowd followed by a bubbling of laughter, which grew louder once Darlene demonstrated the blindfolding process by tying a long scrap of black fabric around her husband’s eyes.

“So, you adults out there, choose wisely,” Keith informed them, lifting the fabric on one side so he looked like a benevolent pirate. “You’ll want to be with partners you trust.”

Darlene passed out the baskets to the little ones and then, with her husband’s help, made sure all of the adults in attendance had been paired up, with one member of the team securely blindfolded.

Stopwatch in hand, Keith said, “You and your partner get to keep the booty and, adults, some plastic eggs are hidden in higher locations, filled with treats just for you…so enjoy whatever you find!”

Darlene pointed to the stopwatch. “Five, four, three, two, one…GO!”

And off they went. The little ones scurried around, eager and unfettered. The wisest of the adults held hands, the sighted ones leading the way. The Bakers, too, held hands and snuck in a few kisses when they thought she wasn’t looking. Shannon sighed. It must be amazing to still be in love like that after so many years together.

“Have I missed it?” a deep, instantly recognizable voice whispered from behind her.

“Hi, Bram,” she said, trying to keep her excitement at his appearance in check. “I’m afraid the hunt has already begun, yes. Did something detain you?”

He tapped the cell phone at his hip and shot it a disgusted glance. “Phone call.”

Of course. She was talking to Mr. Workaholic, after all. “Well, you can watch the festivities with me, if you want. Here, from a safe distance.”

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Darlene declared.

Shannon, Bram and Keith all stared at her.

Darlene wagged her finger at Bram. “No guest can stand on the sidelines like a wallflower at
our
event. Get a blindfold on and get yourself out there!”

“Like a
wallflower?
” Bram muttered, clearly mystified by having such a term applied to him.

Shannon couldn’t help herself. She had to laugh at this. “It’s okay, Darlene,” she began. “Perhaps if another guest joins in late, Bram can—”

“Who needs other guests?” Darlene said, a devious grin pulling up the corners of her lips. “
You’re
not running this event, Miss Shannon Quinn.
We
are.” She thrust a blindfold at Shannon and an Easter basket at Bram. “Hurry! Clock’s ticking. You don’t want everyone else to get all the good stuff, now do you?”