The Way Love Goes

by Pauline Saull

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  Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

  Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

  www.hartwoodpublishing.com

  The Way Love Goes

  Copyright © 2016 by Pauline Saull

  Digital Release: September 2016

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Way Love Goes by Pauline Saull

  Freya has a new life waiting for her in sunny California, courtesy of a legacy from a father she didn’t know existed. She has inherited 200 acres of land and Byron House. What she isn’t to know is that charismatic Flynn O’Neill desperately wants the land. He specializes in designing golf courses, and Freya’s land is ideal. Due to a verbal agreement with her father, he still thinks he has a right to it.

  On their first meeting sparks fly, and both find the magnetism undeniable.

  Flynn thinks he can woo Freya into selling him the land. She thinks otherwise. Other characters come into play—Tim, whom Freya finds caring and easy company; Rochelle, Flynn’s besotted P.A.; and Phillip, the man Freya worked for back in Philadelphia.

  The dark mystery surrounding Freya’s father’s life suddenly reveals itself, throwing her into danger, and there is only Flynn who can save her.

  Chapter One

  Freya Martin drove up the leafy street, her mind in turmoil. She had to speak with Sammy.

  She pulled into her sister’s driveway with a squeal of brakes, jumped from her car, and ran up the path, vaulting the three porch steps to ring the bell. After not many seconds, the door opened and her sister stood with her baby, Peaches—Freya’s little red-faced niece—nestled in her arms.

  “Wow,” Sammy said, wide-eyed. “You look like hell. Come on in.” She held the door open.

  In the kitchen, Freya slumped into a chair and looked around. “I need to speak to you. Where’s Joe?”

  Sammy nodded toward the window. “Out there fighting with a do-it-yourself bird box. Said there’s some screws loose.” Sammy giggled, but the smile quickly slid off her face seeing the anguish in Freya’s eyes. She pulled a chair out on the opposite side of the table.

  “Shoot.” She said it quietly.

  Freya bit hard on her lip. She looked up as the baby began to whimper.

  “Hold on a sec. I’ll get Joe.” Sammy went to the window, opened it, and yelled for her husband.

  Joe Fontanelli, tall and gangly, sauntered into the kitchen, a huge grin on his face. “Found ’em,” he said holding up two small screws. “They were inside the box. Hi, Freya hon.” He looked at her closely. “You’re looking a little bit—”

  “Take Peaches, honey.” Sammy gave him the baby. “Freya and I have things to talk about.” She waited until the door had closed and then turned back to Freya. “Go on,” she said.

  Freya looked at her sister’s sweet face and wished herself any place rather than Sammy’s comfortable, homely kitchen, which had always been a haven of peace and tranquility. She loved her so much and dreaded losing the affection between them.

  Reaching into her bag and pulling out a letter, she pushed it across the table. “This came for Mom this morning.”

  “For Mom?”

  “It’s about me. Go on, read it.”

  Sammy picked it up and began reading. Hand to her mouth, she looked wide-eyed at Freya.

  “Read it all,” Freya said.

  Sammy read it through. Freya watched her face as, once finished, she stared mutely at the words on the crisp white paper. It shook in her hands.

  “I … don’t understand, Sis. This,” Sammy tapped the letter, “lawyer in San Jose is writing to say you’ve been left an inheritance by a man called Archibald McFee who he claims is your father?” She swallowed hard. “What does it mean? Could this be some kind of weird joke? Or one of those scams where someone tries to get your bank account number?”

  Freya’s eyes glistened with tears. “It’s no joke, no scam.”

  “Freya, I’m sorry but I’m not with this. You’re telling me…” Sammy put her hands over her eyes. “I can’t take it in. Our dad wasn’t your real father?”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “That means we’re not full-blood—”

  “Don’t, Sammy. If it is the truth—and I’m a 100 percent sure it is—I still love you. It’s not going to make a scrap of difference to the way we feel about each other. We’re still sisters. Okay?”

  Sammy reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. “But how? I mean…how did it all happen? Why didn’t Mom tell you earlier? I wish I wasn’t breast-feeding, I’d slop some brandy in my coffee.”

  Freya smiled ruefully. “Mom said they didn’t tell me sooner because Dad was afraid he’d lose me if I knew the truth, so she went along with his wish to keep it secret. They meant to tell me one day but said the time never seemed right. After they married and you came along, fearing I might feel pushed out, they kept quiet then, and so on all through my teens…do you remember, when Dad died how grief-stricken we both were? Well, Mom put it off for a time and I guess it’s been like that for her since, you know, getting harder and harder to tell? The letter must have come as a terrific shock to her.”

  “But it was so wrong to keep your background a secret, Freya! This man and Mom had an affair and you were the result! What the heck was Mom thinking of? It’s just awful to have withheld his existence from you. Why didn’t they marry?”

  “He was already married. Don’t look so shocked, Sammy. It happens all the time, and this was twenty-seven years ago after all. I am though, finding it hard to forgive Mom for this.”

  »»•««

  On the drive from Sammy’s back to her apartment, in what had once been an industrial area of Philadelphia, Freya’s thoughts were in turmoil. Along with the distress of the discovery, there was the growing anger against her mom, whom she felt should have dealt with it earlier. It seemed so grossly unfair to have kept such a secret…yet, who was she to point the accusatory finger? She would hopefully never find herself in the situation her mom had been in, so couldn’t know how she felt, or why she’d acted as she had.

  She flipped the radio on. Cher was singing, “If I Could Turn Back Time.” How appropriate was that? Freya mused.

  She went over the letter in her mind, even though she now knew it by heart. As she saw it, there were two options. One, she asked the lawyer to liquidate the assets of the inheritance and got on with what was a fairly contented life, or—and here she felt an unwanted thrill of anticipation—she made further enquiries regarding the exact nature of what Archibald McFee, a Scot originally from the Isle of Arran, had bequeathed to her, the outcome of which could alter her life entirely.

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it was freezing cold.

  “Too early,” Freya muttered as she ran up the steps to the main door of the converted shoe factory. “So cold in September already!” In the apartment, she flippe
d on the heating, made a cup of lemon tea, and sat by the window. The view over the rooftops, one she’d always enjoyed, for some reason depressed her today. A glance at the heavy leaden sky told her that more rain was on the way. She sighed, opened her laptop, and checked the time difference. Three hours ahead. She glanced at her watch.

  Taking out her cell phone and without giving herself time to change her mind, she dialed the number. It was answered immediately, and she was put through to the lawyer.

  “Miss Martin, good afternoon,” Mr. Wainright said warmly. “Thank you for calling so promptly. I would imagine the contents of my letter came as something of a shock, but it was my duty to let you know. Now, I would assume you’ve spoken with your mother who I hope was able to clarify the situation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Fine. Well I’m sure you’ll have spent hours wondering exactly what the inheritance from your…Mr. McFee is, so I shall put all the facts before you. Archibald McFee, your biological father, has left you his home, Byron House, an old brick Colonial standing in two acres, which in itself is nothing, shall we say, special? What is extraordinary is that Mr. McFee also purchased two hundred acres of adjoining non-residential land a few years later, which you also inherit.”

  “Non-residential you say? Does that mean it’s industrial?”

  “No, that’s a different category altogether. I believe the acreage has some lovely mature native trees and flat pastures which unfortunately can never be used for housing.”

  “I see. So, pretty useless really?”

  “Ahem. Not quite. Its position, only a twenty-minute drive from San Jose, which connects to the San Francisco airport by rail, plus its proximity to popular beaches and the lovely old town of Morvenna in central California means it is very desirable.”

  “California! Oh.” Freya gulped. “And desirable…?”

  Mr. Wainright either hadn’t heard her or chose to ignore the question, saying instead, “Along with the house and land there is a small amount of money as well.”

  “Well,” Freya wiped a bead of sweat from her upper lip and rose to turn the thermostat down on the central heating, “as you can imagine I’m quite flabbergasted with the information you’ve given me.”

  “Quite a lot to take in isn’t it, Miss Martin? Um, I expect you’ll wish to sell? Once that decision is made we can set the wheels in motion pretty quickly. All I’ll need is the go-ahead from you. You’re fortunate in that a colleague of mine knows there is a developer already interested in the land.”

  Freya frowned. “Until I’ve seen the place I’m not at all sure that’s what I want to do, Mr. Wainright, so I shall come and see the house as soon as I can. I find the idea very exciting. And California…well gee, I never expected that!”

  There was a moment’s silence from the lawyer. “I see. Good. Right. Well, if you inform me of your intended date and time of arrival I should have all the information to hand regarding your final financial position. If there are no further questions, Miss Martin, I shall wish you a very good day and look forward to meeting you. Oh, one more thing… the house requires considerable modernization…” He waited.

  “Fine,” Freya said. “I could quite look forward to that.”

  She closed her phone thoughtfully. She wasn’t mistaken. There had been a definite shift in Mr. Wainright’s attitude when she mentioned her wish not to sell. And the talk about modernization? Had he hoped to put her off? But why? What should it matter to him what she did with the property?

  But for the moment she dismissed her worries over the lawyer. Other issues filled her thoughts. Resting her head on the back of the chair, eyes closed, Freya reflected on the remarkable day. The shock of it all had really hit hard, going far deeper than she would ever let her mom know. Added to that, also which she didn’t want to burden her with, was the aching sadness for the loss of an unknown father.

  Am I being selfish? Didn’t Mom and Archie go through far worse all those years ago; two people so in love, having to part for the rest of their lives?

  And, had she had this information years ago, what would she have done with it? Before her pop died she could not have hurt him by trying to make contact with an unknown father. After he died though, she knew what she would have done, and that was what was gnawing away at her. She’d missed out on years with her biological father.

  A glance through the window told her the rain was falling heavier. A picture of sunshine, wide blue skies, and lush valleys shot into her mind.

  Freya went back to her laptop to look up flights to San Jose.

  Chapter Two

  In Morvenna, a small, central Californian town, Flynn O’Neill sat in the office of his friend and lawyer, John Bates, listening intently to the news. He had gone through school with John and trusted him implicitly, so knew he was hearing the truth.

  “I know this has come as a dreadful shock to you, Flynn. I have to say I had no idea of her existence until I heard from Peter Wainright who’s dealing with the will, but Archie McFee has left everything to his daughter in Philadelphia whom no one knew about.”

  Flynn looked at him. “I hear what you’re saying but it won’t sink in! We had a verbal agreement. Archie said…” He shook his head in bewilderment. “There was nothing at all in the will about the two hundred acres?”

  John pursed his lips. “Nothing I’m afraid. Maybe Archie intended getting around to it but changed his mind. Who knows? We can only speculate. Because Wainright knew through me of your interest in the place he rang me yesterday.”

  “When did the guy find out about her?”

  “He’s known all along apparently. And in accordance with Archie’s wishes, contacted Mrs. Martin, the mother after his death. Wainright said he didn’t spell out in exact words to Mrs. Martin what the inheritance is. He’s waiting for the daughter to contact him. I’m expecting a call anytime now,” John checked his watch, “which is why I asked you in. Don’t look so worried, there can’t be many young women interested in owning large tracts of land at the other side of the country. I expect she’ll want to sell.” John adjusted his glasses.

  “So now I have a woman to deal with, that’s all I need.”

  John frowned. “Flynn!”

  Flynn waved his hand. “Sorry. Philadelphia you said?”

  “Yes. I have no idea why Archie’s daughter should have been brought up there. Most of his working life, according to Wainright, was in New York. I’m amazed; she’s been a well-kept secret!”

  The muscles in Flynn’s face clenched. “You know, John, now I think about it, my grandfather said that many years ago Archie had mentioned a child to him when they were on one of their Gaelic benders. Nothing else was ever said about it by Archie and when Gramps tried to bring the subject up, Archie side-stepped it.” He sighed. “As you can see I’m finding this pretty hard to come to terms with. I trusted Archie. I mean he and Granddad go back to when Archie first came to California, almost fifteen years ago, and I knew him almost as long …” His voice petered out. He put his elbows on his knees and pushed his hands through his hair.

  John leaned on his desk. “Flynn, I know how upsetting this is but believe me, the right attitude is imperative here. If you want to start renegotiations with Miss Martin over a possible sale, I suggest you tread carefully.”

  Flynn smiled wryly. “Okay. Yeah you’re right, I suppose. It’s just that it puts me in a delicate position. Who knows what the woman will decide to do. You said, Miss… Do we know if there’s a partner anywhere?”

  “By that I take it you mean a man?”

  Flynn shrugged. “Whatever. All I’m concerned about is someone in the background influencing her.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “Wainright suggested she appears to be a chip off the old block, like Archie, not the type to be influenced by anyone. Not even you!”

  “Don’t count on that.” Flynn grinned. “I love a challenge. Do you know what she does for a living?”

  “She’s an accountant, I believe.�
��

  The telephone on John’s desk rang. He picked it up, waving a hand for Flynn to stay. “Put him through,” he said. ‘Wainright’, he mouthed to Flynn.

  The conversation was short, with very little input from John. He replaced the receiver, laced his fingers together, and looked at Flynn.

  “I’ve known you long enough to say this. From things said, and not said by Wainright, Miss Martin sounds a determined young woman, one who I’m sure will not be, shall we say,” John raised an eyebrow, “swayed by your charisma?”

  Flynn grinned ruefully. “Your words not mine.”

  “Well, the news is, she’s interested. She wants to come out and see the place before she makes any decisions, so I can’t stress strongly enough. Handle this properly and it could work out to your advantage. Try and stay focused, keep your cool, don’t antagonize her, just play along and see what happens. Interesting though, eh? A daughter suddenly on the scene.”

  “Yeah.” Flynn rose and went to look out the window. “As you so rightly say, I will stay focused.” He turned to look at his friend, his vivid blue eyes had darkened. “I do want that land, John. The well makes it practically invaluable in this climate.” He sighed. “Archie actually approved the plans. Did you know that? Said he quite liked the idea of nipping down the garden for a game. I have,” he added, “invested too much money in it just to let it go.”

  “Well,” John shrugged. “You know my thoughts on verbal agreements, they’re worth nothing. I’m sorry to say I think you jumped the gun.”

  Flynn’s eyes glittered. “Maybe.” He stroked his chin. “So, when can we expect to meet this Miss Martin?”

  Chapter Three

  Her flight was booked. Sammy invited Freya and their mom to a meal the night before, and everyone chattered about Freya’s good fortune.

  “The fact is,” Freya said finally, “thanks to…Archie and his generous bequest I now own a house and all that land in California. Imagine!”