Page 46 of Bad Seed

Brendan grinned. “You could say that. Aaron is the oldest, then Sean, then Wiley, then me.”

“Are all of you tall?”

“I’m the tallest in the family by a couple of inches, but family gatherings are like being in the Land of the Giants. If you’re here long enough, maybe you’ll get to meet them one day. Now, sorry for the history lesson. How can I help you?”

“Right,” Harley mumbled, picked up her pad and pen again. “Since you spend your working hours in the kitchen of the main dining area, is there anything about it that has changed since the manager was put in place…like changing vendors or the ordering of products? Anything like that?”

Brendan took a sip of his drink, thinking back. “I know Chef Randolph has complained that the meat he’sreceiving is of a lesser quality than what we’ve offered before, and he raised hell just today about the quality of cuts on porterhouse steaks that he’d ordered.”

“What about your side of the kitchen? The baking area?”

“The dairy I use is not what we used to get. Other than that, the bakery is not directly affected. I still have the kinds of flour I need. Eggs are eggs. Sugar is sugar. We came close to a staff walkout because of Beaumont’s daughter, Justine, but she’s out of the picture now.”

“Really? How so?” Harley asked.

“I was told her mother paid off the damages she caused at a local bar and took her back to Dallas with her. That’s all I know, and I only know that because of my brother.”

“What do you think of Larry Beaumont?” she asked.

“I know nothing about how he’s doing his job, but I don’t like him personally. No, that’s the wrong word. I don’t trust him,” Brendan said.

Harley glanced up. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Instinct. Gut feeling,” he said, and downed the rest of his drink.

“Understood,” she said. “I’m not going to keep you any longer. Thank you so much for tonight, and for the surprise tart, and most of all, for the story. I hope you know how blessed you are to have a history like that. And family who stand behind what you do.”

As Brendan stood, he immediately flashed on Clyde Wallace, the father they’d disavowed.

“We have our mother to thank for that.”

“She sounds special,” Harley said, and thought of the father in prison, but said nothing. If he wanted her to know about all that, he would tell her. Otherwise, it was her secret to keep. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said, then opened it and stepped aside to let him pass.

Brendan was halfway out the door when he paused on the threshold and looked back. There was a long, silent moment between them, each searching the other’s face for something more than the words they’d spoken. And then he took a deep breath.

“You know how to reach me. Sleep well,” he said, and left.

She stood in the doorway, watching the swing of his shoulders and long stride as he walked away, then shivered, remembering what he said about being the end of a prophecy and wishing someone like him was a part of her future.

Hours later, and long after she’d gone to bed, she dreamed of a snake coming out of the shadows and coiling around her like a noose, then of a wolf standing beside her and the snake dead at her feet, and woke up in a cold sweat.

***

Brendan drove home in silence, went through the usual motions afterward, but was too keyed up to sleep. He kept prowling through the house, digging through thepantry for cookies, downing a longneck bottle of beer in front of the gas fireplace while the wind rattled the screens in his windows, and sifting through unanswered emails.

The feeling he had was unsettling, but he couldn’t pinpoint what had caused it. It felt like he knew someone had planted a bomb with a timer, but no one knew where it was or when it might go off.

Instinct told him Harley Banks’s arrival was at the center of it. But was it just how she affected him, or how what she was doing affected the hotel? One thing he knew for certain: she was already under his skin. He just had to be careful not to let her into his heart. He didn’t want a hit-and-miss lover. He wanted a forever woman or nothing at all.

***

The next morning, Harley ordered breakfast from room service and was sifting through the hotel links and adding figures to her spreadsheet when it arrived. She’d ordered a simple meal. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits.

“Good morning, Miss Banks. Shall I put this on your table?”

“Yes, please,” Harley said, and waited at the door, then turned the dead bolt after the man left.

She removed the cloche from her plate and the napkin from her breadbasket, she reached for thebutter, slathering some on the biscuits while they were still warm. She thought of the bowl of cold milk and cereal she would have fixed for herself at home and dug in. The food was good, but the biscuits were sublime.

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