Forgotten Father (12 page)

She could have seduced her lover’s grandson…and
forgotten all about it?

“Delanie’s not like that. She’d never rob a bank,”
her assistant said hotly. “It’s just a fluke that she can’t
remember those few days. A silly little blip in the brain, that’s
all. The doctors say it happens like that sometimes.”

Mitchell stared at the woman as she slipped out the
door, his mind reeling with this new perspective on Delanie’s
acting as if she didn’t know him.

She’d actually forgotten his existence?
Forgotten
the raw passion they’d shared? Was that
possible?

“Is there something else I can do for you, Mr.
Riese?” Pat asked, bringing him back to the awareness that he was
standing in front of her desk, staring at the closed door.

“No,” he said, gathering up the contract. “No, thank
you. I’ve finished this.”

“If you need anything else, I’ll be glad to help,”
she offered.

“Thank you,” he muttered, leaving the office.

As he crossed the lobby, his natural skepticism
reasserted itself. Who the heck in real life ever got amnesia? You
heard about things like that on the news sometimes. A person
disappearing and then being discovered years later living as
another person and claiming no memory of their past.

But the fact that these stories made it to the news
was an indication of just how rare the occurrence was. Delanie had
to be pulling some kind of scam, hoping he’d accept her inheritance
of The Cedars, if she never acknowledged their night together or
the confrontation the following day.

That had to be it, he told himself.

Could she have really managed what he could not? Had
she forgotten him completely?

It didn’t seem possible. Even if she’d slept with a
hundred men who’d given her an equally good time, she couldn’t have
forgotten the ugly scene by the lake.

But her assistant had seemed so…honest. So removed
from pretense. He couldn’t see that woman giving so consummate a
performance, if performance it had been. And the idea that Delanie
had somehow plotted this out over a year ago, somehow pretending
even with her assistant, didn’t make sense.

And why do it? Why fake a blank memory when she
already had legal right to half The Cedars? Unless, she thought her
forgetfulness would influence him to adopt the same attitude.

Still, a genuine case of amnesia—if there was such a
thing—would explain the baffled look on her face when he made
references to their past.

It would explain her easy, friendly response to him
in the beginning…and her turning him down sexually the other
night.

No. That still remained a mystery. Her behavior when
they first met left no doubt in his mind that Delanie took lovers
easily.

So what if she’d forgotten him before…as
unbelievable as that seemed. Why didn’t she want him now? Or more
accurately, why wouldn’t she let herself act on the lust between
them now?

Closing the door to his grandfather’s old office,
Mitchell sat down at the desk.

The woman intrigued him…baffled and frustrated him.
He needed to get closer, to study her reactions. Then he’d know if
she were really a mixed up, memory-deficient flake…or a scheming
tart out to steal more of his fortune.

CHAPTER SIX

“You wanted to see me?” Delanie asked as she stepped
into the conservatory. Humidity-loving greenery abounded around
her, creating a jungle backdrop, but the man who stood beside the
empty fountain wore a suit and tie, as business-like as usual.

He was too serious.

Repressing a smile, along with the urge to rumple
his hair, she waited for his response.

“Yes, I did.” Mitchell shoved his hands in his pants
pockets and frowned at her. “Richardson from maintenance has some
concerns about this part of the building.”

He glanced around the shrubbery-choked room.

The conservatory projected out to the rear of the
main building. All glass panes on three sides, it lie like a lush
corner of Eden, filled with the rustling impression of tropical
greenery thrusting its way through the soil.

Delanie loved the place. It shrieked of Victorian
excess and drama. Of enchanted secrets and promises. Its dark
alcoves held a thousand small, quiet places to hide.

Clearly immune to enchantments, Mitchell continued
impersonally, “Richardson’s not sure if we should remove the
conservatory entirely or make costly structural repairs to maintain
it. I want your opinion.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, pleased at his treating
her like a member of the decision-making team. They were finally
getting somewhere!

“There are roof problems that may be contributed to
by the humidity with all these flower beds and the tons of dirt.
Richardson tells me making the necessary repairs would be a big
investment. The only real question is how removing this part of the
house will effect the general look of the building.” He glanced at
her dispassionately. “I thought we might as well make use of your
expertise.”

Delanie stared at him.

Her only expertise, he might as well have said. She
fought the urge to tell him where he could shove his sardonic smile
and condescending attitude.

Instead, she mastered the impulse and smiled at him
blandly. “Of course, I’ll be glad to tell you what I think of
removing this part of the building.”

She paused and then pronounced succinctly, “Lousy,
stinkin’ idea.”

Mitchell frowned, his blue eyes going dark. “Perhaps
you’d like to explain how you arrive at this elegantly-phrased
conclusion.”

“Okay.” She strolled further into the stone-floored
room, turning to face him. “First off, I’m new to the hotel
ownership situation, but even I know we have a tremendous amount of
competition for our customers’ vacation dollar. In addition, we
have seasonal limitations that don’t factor into sunnier resorts.
Thirdly, we’re situated out here in the middle of God’s country
with no major entertainment complex to draw guests.”

“What’s your point?” he asked tersely, pivoting to
follow her as she walked further into the jungle, the afternoon sun
filtering through the glass-paned walls.

“I’ll tell you,” she said, running one hand along a
large leaf of vivid green. “What we’re selling here is service and
atmosphere. Coming to The Cedars is like stepping back in time to a
more gracious, more relaxed era. The conservatory is part of
that.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but the place still has
to pay for itself,” Mitchell argued as he followed her around a
turn in the path. “We’re not running a charity here.”

“Yes,” Delanie said dryly, “money would always be
the bottom line.”

“Naturally,” he said with complete conviction. “The
Cedars is a business.”

Delanie leaned back against a large, decorative rock
that looked like it had occupied that space since Noah’s flood.
“True, but The Cedars is also a big part of your family
history.”

She caught a flicker of something in his eyes and
wondered for a moment if he were as set on demolishing the
conservatory as he claimed. Had she been called into fight for
something
he
didn’t want to let go of, but couldn’t find a
reason to keep?

“My family built a number of successful industries,”
he told her, an annoying thread of disdain in his words.
“Sentimentality hasn’t made us a penny.”

Standing there in the midst of lush vegetation, his
crisp white shirt collar beginning to wilt and his dark hair
curling slightly in the humidity, he looked suddenly less perfect.
And the slightest bit vulnerable, despite the superior tone of his
words.

Shaking off the silly, fanciful impression, Delanie
straightened from the boulder and walked over to press her face
into a riotously blooming hibiscus. The perfume of the rich pink
blossoms clung to her skin as she turned around…and caught a
glimmer of something decidedly passionate in his eyes.

It was quickly banished, but not before she gained a
rapid impression of heat and hunger mixed with a very faint
uncertainty.

Mitchell Riese wasn’t as sure of himself as he
seemed, she thought, surprised. Apparently, he wasn’t always the
arrogant, good-looking jerk who revved her heartbeat while making
her want to hit him.

“You grew up here, didn’t you?”

His expression shuttered. “Not exactly. We lived in
New York most of the time.”

“But you vacationed here?” she persisted. “Spent the
summers with your grandparents?”

“Yes,” he said, reaching up to loosen his tie in his
only concession to the hot house temperature. “It was my
grandmother’s favorite vacation spot.”

Delanie tugged a blossom free of the hibiscus and
stuck it over her ear. “I’ll bet you had family holidays here.
Celebrated birthdays and Christmas?”

“A few times,” he said, the shadows in his eyes
shifting to a brooding blue. “But that has nothing to do with
whether or not we sink hundreds of thousands of dollars of revenue
into maintaining what is essentially an over-grown flower box.”

“I bet there are some really old plants in here,
too,” Delanie said, ignoring his irritable declaration. If he
wanted her to play Devil’s Advocate, she could easily do so.

When had Mitchell Riese lost touch with his heart?
Emotion was a perfectly valid basis for some decisions. It wasn’t
like he couldn’t afford to keep the conservatory. The man was a
millionaire ten times over.

“Yes,” Mitchell agreed briefly, “there are a number
of unique specimens…which could easily be removed and preserved by
a local horticulture club.”

“This was your grandmother’s place, wasn’t it? This
and the gardens?”

“Yes,” he said, his frowning gaze on the flower in
her hair.

“What a tremendous history you have here,” she said,
wandering over to an old garden bench. The wispy fronds of a giant
fern extended over the bench like an awning. She sat down, the
slanting afternoon sunlight throwing a patchwork of light on the
stones at her feet.

“I’ll bet you had huge family reunions here,” she
said in a reminiscent tone.

“Not really.” Mitchell sat down on a bench facing
hers across the flagged path. “As you’ll remember from the
attorney’s recitation of my family tree, I’m the only one
left.”

Delanie frowned. “That’s right. No uncles and aunts.
No cousins. It must have been lonely here with just your
grandparents and your mom and dad.”

“Not at all,” he denied. “My grandfather and father
were both avid sportsmen. We fished while my grandmother gardened.
It was a very peaceful childhood.”

“What did your mother do?” Delanie asked humorously,
“fish or garden?”

“Neither,” Mitchell replied matter-of-factly.
“According to my father, her favorite activities were shopping and
going to parties. She was never here after they divorced.”

According to my father…
? He didn’t have first
hand knowledge of his mother’s favorite activities?

“How old were you then?” She brushed aside the
niggle of compassion. Lots of people had dysfunctional families.
You coped. Learned to go on. Sucked it up and realized your parents
were human, too.

“Eight years old,” he said before abruptly changing
the subject. “According to Richardson, we’ll have to replace most
of the roof—“

“You were eight when your family broke up?” Delanie
said with a rush of tenderness for the child he’d been. “That’s so
young. And you lived with your father after that? Your mother must
have been devastated to have lost custody.”

“Yes.” The sardonic expression in his eyes
deepened.

“You saw her for visitation though, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” he said carelessly. “She was busy
traveling, but we managed to cross paths a few times.”

Cross paths?
That’s all the mothering he’d
received? Occasional air-kisses and a waft of perfume?

Thinking of her own loving mother, Delanie looked at
him, doing her best to keep the pity out of her eyes. So there
really were poor little rich kids.

“Is she still alive?” Delanie asked. “Your mother? I
don’t remember the lawyer mentioning her, but I suppose if she and
your father divorced all those years ago, she doesn’t fit into the
family inheritance.”

“No, to both questions,” he said, a remote,
dismissive expression on his face. “So you think we should spend
the money to re-roof the conservatory?”

“Yes,” she said, tacitly accepting his change of
subject this time. “Think of the guests’ children who play in here.
Those two boys who left as I came in.”

“Yes,” Mitchell agreed. “I still don’t think it’s
the best decision to rebuild a roof for an overgrown thicket. But
it is a great place for a kid to play.”

“When you were small, did you play Tarzan in here?”
she asked teasingly, “or did you always aspire to wear a suit and
tie?"

He shot her a sideways glance. “I liked the jungle
as much as any other healthy boy. It has more in common with the
business world than you might think.”

Noting the edge to his words, she hid a smile and
said, “How lonely you must have been, playing here by
yourself.”

Mitchell leaned back against the bench, watching her
with an enigmatic expression. “Just because I didn’t have siblings
or cousins, didn’t mean I played alone. There are always kids
here.”

“So you made a lot of friends,” she concluded,
letting her skepticism glimmer in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“People you’re still in contact with,” she prodded
in gentle disbelief.

“Yes,” he said after the briefest of
hesitations.

“Guys you call when you need to cry in your beer
because your latest woman friend dumped you.”

Delanie waited, curious how he’d react to her
tongue-in-cheek comment. Mitchell Riese wasn’t a social misfit by
any definition, but she couldn’t see him crying over a woman. It
was hard enough to envision him being cast aside.