Grand Passion

he go there?”
    “A family matter,” Cleo said smoothly.
    “That's nonsense.” Kimberly's eyes were cold. “I've known Max for several years. He doesn't have any family.”
    “He does now,” Cleo said, “although I'm not sure he realizes it. Look, Ms. Winston…”
    “Curzon-Winston.”
    “Ms. Curzon-Winston,” Cleo repeated obediently, “perhaps I can help you.”
    “I doubt it.”
    “The thing is,” Cleo said politely, “Max works for me. If something is wrong, I should know about it.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said, Max works for me.”
    A strange expression appeared in Kimberly's blue eyes. “We are talking about the same Max Fortune, aren't we? Tall. Black hair. Rather fierce-looking. Uses a cane?”
    “That's our Max,” Cleo agreed.
    “Then he couldn't possibly work for you. He's a vice president with Curzon International.” Kimberly's smile was glacial. “Max Fortune works for me.”

    “I didn't know what to do.” Ben gazed despondently down at his half-finished burger. “It really took me by surprise, you know? I screwed up one time, and Trisha got pregnant.”
    “It happens,” Max said. “Only takes once.”
    “Shit, you ever had a woman tell you that she's pregnant and you're the father?”
    “No.” Max reflected briefly again on how he would feel if Cleo told him she was pregnant with his baby. But that would never happen. He had been careful last night. He was always careful about such matters. After all, he had a reputation for not screwing up. “I can see that it would be something of a shock.”
    “You can say that again. I told Trisha I needed a little time to think things through.” Ben ran his fingers through his hair. “I got to figure out what to do, you know?”
    “Yes.”
    Ben raised haunted eyes and gazed helplessly at Max. “I don't remember anything about my own dad. He left when I was a baby. How am I supposed to know what to do with a kid? I don't know anything about being a father.”
    “You remember Jason Curzon?”
    Ben frowned. “Sure. He was a neat old guy. Helped me out with the plumbing at the inn. I liked Jason.”
    “So did I,” Max said quietly. “Jason used to say that a man learns most things by doing them. When it comes to figuring out how to be a father, men like you and me have to depend upon on-the-job training.”
    Ben's expression was bleak. “I already made enough mistakes in my life.”
    “You know how to hold down a job, don't you? Everyone at the inn says you're a hard worker.”
    “Well, sure. Work's one thing. Raisin' a kid is another.”
    “The way I look at it,” Max said, “a lot of the same rules apply.”
    Ben stared at him. “You think so?”
    “Yes.” Max looked out the window and wondered when the rain would stop. “Look, the most important thing about holding down a job is to show up for work on a regular basis. Seems to me the same thing applies to being a father. You get points for just being around.”
    “Yeah?” Ben slitted his eyes. “What do you know about being a father?”
    “Not much,” Max admitted.
    “So maybe you shouldn't be giving me advice,” Ben said belligerently.
    “Maybe not.”
    A long silence descended on the booth.
    Ben scowled. “Is that all you got to say?”
    “No,” Max said. “There was one other thing I wanted to discuss.”
    “What's that?”
    “I was wondering if you could give me a couple of hints on how to handle the leaking pipe in room two-fifteen. I've tried everything I can think of, and the sucker just keeps on dripping on the floor of the sink cabinet. It's getting worse.”
    Ben blinked in obvious alarm. “Those pipes under the sink in two-fifteen are just about rusted out. You got to treat 'em with kid gloves. One wrong move, and the whole dang thing is gonna go.”

    “Ms. Robbins?” The urbane man on the other side of the front desk smiled aloofly. His hair was a distinguished silver-gray, and his gray suit was the last word in sophisticated tailoring. His eyes were ice cold.
    Cleo eyed him warily. “I'm Cleo Robbins. Can I help you?”
    “I sincerely hope so,” the man said in a smooth tone that held just the barest hint of condescending amusement. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Garrison Spark.”
    “I was afraid of that.” Cleo took the card that Spark handed to her. It felt heavy and rich and ever so tasteful in her hand.
    “I would like to talk to you about five very valuable pictures.”
    “Sorry.” Cleo tossed the