Karen’s hotel was ideal—if she’d sell, or at least bring in investors like those that the Collins Institute could offer. But there was that damn stubborn pride of hers. That might keep her from any deals—of any kind.
Mike let out a breath.
Well, one thing was for sure. Nothing he could do about anything tonight. Except get some sleep.
Mike woke early, opted for a morning swim on the beach instead of a shower. He came into the hotel to find the other guests already at breakfast in the main room, and talking about visiting one of the local Fijian villages. Not that I’m a guest, he thought, and glanced down at his uniform of a shirt and shorts. He gave everyone a wave and a smile and headed for the kitchen.
He found a note from Karen about heading off for supplies, so Mike headed back to the generator. He made a list of parts he thought he might need, and then he glanced around. The shed that held the generator looked as if one more storm would send the whole thing flying. The roof needed patching and the walls some timber to lock them down. He spent the day cleaning out the shack, shoring it up, and nailing it down again. Some of the lumber that had been useful to batten down the shutters and windows came in handy, and he ended up sweaty, grubby and in desperate need of a shower.
Poking around the hotel he found a bathroom just off the employee locker room. It offered a claw foot tub, and running water, and he scrubbed up. He also decided it was about time to try and get his suit into some kind of shape. He found the laundry room—he usually took everything to the cleaner’s, but he doubted he’d find one on the island. Setting it for delicate, he washed his coat, shirt, pants, socks, and underwear. He also dug out an iron. The years of him being on his own with Zach were at least paying off—he’d learned the basics of self-care and housework, even if he hated them.
Karen still hadn’t come back from her shopping, so Mike fixed dinner and invited the other guests to join him. Good thing you could stretch spaghetti a long way. The Nessers were leaving tomorrow—they’d hired the sea plane that serviced the island to take them back to Fiji. Mike’s mouth watered at the thought of getting off this island, but without money—and no credit cards—he was stuck. Unless Karen started paying him a wage, he was here until the phones were at least working so he could connect with civilization.
He did bum a call off Ted Gunderson and found the cell towers were still out—no signal. Ted gave him a shrug as Mike handed the phone back. “I kind of like it.”
Juilet grinned and nodded. “No Internet. No calls. I haven’t had this much peace in my life—ever.” The two of them strolled off to watch the sunset and Mike sat on the porch, a glass of iced tea in his hands. That was just what this place should be—a paradise. All it needed was better marketing.
He spent the rest of the evening thinking up plans that would put this place on the map—it only needed the money to execute. He started to wonder if Karen was just cheap, or strapped for cash. Given the lack of guests, he’d guess the latter, but why hadn’t she gotten a better set up from her folks? Had they skimped that much on their insurance, leaving her with less capital than she needed?
Giving up on Karen, Mike headed to bed.
Chapter Nine
A heavy pounding on his door woke him the next day.
“Rise and shine. We’ve got work!” Mike gave a groan, but he rolled out of bed, dressed, and found Karen in the kitchen, making coffee.
She wouldn’t meet his eye as she talked, listing a day of work that sounded more like a week’s worth of effort. Finally, he stepped in front of her. “This is you being okay with what happened between us?”
She blinked and backed up a step. “Told you. I’m fine. Now let’s get going on the huts. I need them ready for next week.”
The huts turned out to be four one-room palm-thatched shacks. All of them had porches with perfect ocean views. Mike glanced around at the unfinished wooden floors, the worn and dated furniture, and the sky that he could see through the roof. “These don’t need work. They need a match and a sack of marshmallows that you can roast as they burn.”
Frowning, she glanced at him. “They’re fine. They just need…a little—”
“Fire accelerant? You’ve got the location here, but not the amenities. Ever thought about taking in an investor?”
She stiffened. “My folks ran this place on their own.”
“And that makes it great for you to do the same?” He shook his head.
Turning on him, she braced her hands on her hips. “Are you going to help, or what?”
Holding up his hands, he smiled. “Hey, you’re the boss. Speaking of which, when’s payday? I get I’m working for room and board, but how about throwing in enough money I may be able to get off this chunk of sand someday?”
Her mouth thinned and tightened. Worry flooded her eyes and she looked away. “We can talk about that later.”
He gave a nod. Great—she wasn’t just hanging onto this place because it had been her folks’ hotel. She was hanging on to it by her fingernails—and probably by a prayer.
By the end of the day, Mike’s back was aching, and his knee twinged with a reminder he wasn’t a kid anymore. In the kitchen, he stopped for a long drink of water. When he looked up from the glass he saw Karen watching him from the doorway. “Problem?” he asked.
She held up two DVDs. “Only that I can’t decide what to watch. I thought you could…we could watch a movie.”
He knew an olive branch when he saw one. Putting down his water glass in the sink, he asked, “I thought we didn’t have electricity?”
“You’ve never heard of a battery operated DVD player? I’ve got five hours of battery and time for one movie.” She glanced at the covers. “How about Three Kings or Godfather? With beer and pretzels?”
“You’re on.”