by Judy Duarte
Too bad she had no plan for what came next. She’d essentially blown apart her entire life a month ago with her stupid choices. One particular choice involving one specific man.
Avery wanted to believe she hadn’t inherited her mom’s self-destructive streak when it came to men. The facts—and the lives ruined in her wake—told a different story. She wasn’t about to take a chance again, even for a moment of harmless flirting.
She stopped next to her car and turned to face him. “Listen, Jim-Bob or Billy-Bob or Bubba or whatever your redneck name is,” she began, loosening the reins on the anger, irritation and misplaced grief she’d been tamping down for days, “you might be hot but I’m not interested in some good ol’ boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
He cocked a thick brow, but she continued before he could speak. “So why don’t you just saunter off to whatever god-awful watering hole this town has to offer and ply your tired charms on a woman who’s too drunk to care whether this—” she wagged a finger up and down in front of him “—is all you have to offer.”
When his eyes flashed with something that looked like pain before narrowing, she sucked in a ragged breath. Oh, no. She’d just ripped into a perfect stranger who didn’t deserve her unbridled animosity. Talk about kicking the dog. Shame and regret bubbled up inside her, as familiar as a worn pair of shoes. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand.
“It’s ten in the morning and I’m on duty,” he said, his tone stony. The Southern drawl sounded even more pronounced when laced with temper. “But I sure do appreciate the advice and I’ll keep it in mind for later, darlin’. This was just the reminder I needed of why women like you are a bad bet.”
Women like her.
Ouch. She didn’t understand the exact meaning of his words, but they were obviously an insult of the highest order. And one she deserved more than he could realize.
Which was why she didn’t go after him when he stalked toward the hulking black truck parked near the front of the building, even though guilt ate at her insides. Let him believe she was a raving bitch. Most people from her old life did.
She glanced at her watch and stifled a groan. She was late for the meeting at the attorney’s office. After her outburst with the hottie firefighter, she had half a mind to skip the reading of the will. With the maelstrom of emotions rioting through her, there was no telling what kind of trouble she’d get into next.
She put away the gas nozzle, then climbed into the car, leaning into the dash as the air from the vents turned cool once again. Blond hair clung to her sticky neck, and she took the elastic band off her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. She’d woken today at a hotel in Raleigh and gotten ready like she was heading to the most important business meeting of her life.
She’d ruthlessly straightened her hair, although she quickly realized how much of a waste of time that had been. No amount of product was going to beat the impact of the late-August heat and humidity. The Calvin Klein pantsuit that normally made her feel confident now seemed like overkill, especially as sweat beaded at the backs of her knees and trickled between her shoulder blades.
She turned out of the service station parking lot, following the route programmed into the car’s GPS. She’d done her research on Niall Reed. He was commercially successful, critically eviscerated and not man enough to claim his bastard daughter while he was alive.
Her stomach twisted as she pulled to the curb in front of a brick building near the center of downtown Magnolia. Although the town was picturesque, with colorful flowers bursting from planter boxes along the sidewalk and a predominance of Greek Revival architecture that showcased the area’s history, the streets seemed almost deserted.
Avery didn’t bother to fix her messy ponytail or reapply makeup. At this point, what did it matter? She took another swig of Mountain Dew and walked toward the redbrick building, clutching the Italian leather portfolio she’d splurged on after her first promotion. The knots in her stomach tightened with each step.
An older woman with a cotton-ball head of hair looked up from her desk as Avery entered. The receptionist gave her a long once-over, then pointed to a closed office door. “They’re waiting for you.”
“I’m Avery Keller,” Avery told her automatically.
“Yes, dear,” the woman agreed. “I know who you are.”
Of course she did. Avery stared at the door like it was a portal to hell. She was being ridiculous. Her life had already been smashed to bits. One meeting wasn’t going to change things that much. Maybe she’d get money. Maybe a painting or two. Perhaps her father left a letter for her, something that would explain why—
“They’re waiting,” the receptionist repeated. “Mr. Damon has to be at the courthouse at eleven.”
“Right.” Avery straightened her shoulders and moved forward, entering the office as quietly as possible. Not that it mattered. Three sets of eyes turned to her.
Douglas Damon sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, files piled high on the credenza behind him. He was roughly sixty years old, with a meaty build and salt-and-pepper hair. He stood, pulling a pair of reading glasses from his nose. “You must be Avery.”
She nodded.
“Have a seat,” he told her, indicating the empty chair in front of his desk. Avery had never been sent to the principal’s office growing up, but she imagined it felt very much like this moment. Why was she so nervous? She’d done nothing wrong.
Maybe it was the two women glaring at her from where they sat on either side of the unoccupied chair. But why were there two?
She recognized Carrie Reed from her photos on the internet. Based on Avery’s research, Niall’s legitimate daughter had served as his assistant and the manager of his art gallery here in Magnolia. Carrie was her half sister. It felt odd...even though Avery had always wanted a sibling. She wasn’t what she’d pictured, a woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and a pinched mouth who clearly wanted this meeting as much as Avery did. Had Carrie known about her father’s other daughter?
Who was the third woman? Unlike Avery in her stifling suit and Carrie, who wore a flowing, flowery skirt and soft peasant blouse, the petite brunette wasn’t dressed up for this meeting. On the contrary, her rumpled T-shirt, jeans and heavy-duty work boots seemed like a thumb of the nose to the formality of Douglas Damon’s office. Avery hadn’t discovered anything about a third sister but got the impression that Carrie and the other woman weren’t complete strangers. So what was going on?
She could feel each of the women throwing some wicked side-eye as she lowered herself into the chair. Her skin itched like it was suddenly a size too small for her body, as if she were shrinking under the weight of the critical stares from these two strangers.
But Avery wasn’t about to show weakness. Not now. Not when she’d held her head high through the scandal in San Francisco. Through Tony’s wife confronting her in the office, hurling vile accusations. Through the public humiliation of being reprimanded in front of her entire risk assessment department at Pierce and Chambers, the financial firm where she’d been so proud to work. Through the tragedy of what came next.
She kept her gaze fixed on a spot beyond Damon’s left shoulder as his words washed over her. Apparently the attorney had been her father’s closest friend in addition to his attorney so he’d been named executor of the will and would shepherd the estate through probate. He talked about Reed’s accomplishments, his mistakes and regrets and the hope he’d had that his three daughters would come together after his death to preserve his legacy.
Three. Daughters.
Both of these women were her sisters—half sisters. To Avery, who’d grown up alone, the fact that she shared only one parent with each of them hardly counted. Rage swept through her at all the potential withheld from her. Of course, there was no guarantee knowing her father and sisters would have changed anything. But it remained
a possibility.
One Niall Reed had stolen from her.
Blood roared in her head as the attorney detailed the terms of the will. It was difficult for Avery to follow along with her emotions threatening to take over. Her focus sharpened when Carrie let out a tiny gasp.
“I get his gallery?” Avery asked, forcing herself to take a steadying breath.
“No,” Carrie whispered next to her.
Douglas Damon nodded. “Along with a sizable mortgage. Unfortunately, the house and the commercial buildings both come with a tremendous amount of debt attached. Julie Martindale over at the bank will discuss the particulars, but the colloquial phrase to describe the situation would be ‘mortgaged to the hilt.’”
A snort came from Avery’s left as the other sister leaned forward. “How about the phrase ‘he screwed us’?”
“Meredith, don’t,” Carrie muttered through clenched teeth.
“I understand this is a shock,” Damon said, looking down his nose at the woman called Meredith. “But your father did try to clean up his finances before he passed. In all likelihood, the stress of that is what—”
Avery gripped the arms of the wingback chair as Meredith bolted up and stalked to the window. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Niall’s stress or the fact that he kicked it.” When Carrie drew in a sharp breath, Meredith whirled on her. “Did you know? All these years of playing the town princess, did you know about me?” She jabbed a finger in Avery’s direction. “Or her?”
Carrie shook her head, a strand of silky hair falling against her cheek. “Of course not.”
“Why should anyone believe you?” Meredith demanded. “His dutiful daughter, staying by his side even when your mother finally got smart enough to cut and run.”
“I didn’t know,” Carrie insisted quietly, twin spots of angry color blooming on her cheeks.
The attorney shifted in his chair and leveled a disapproving glare at Meredith. “Histrionics won’t help anyone at this point.”
“I don’t want the house,” Meredith responded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Give me the beach property. It’s where I—”
“The terms of the will are clear,” Damon interrupted. “Meredith, you inherit the Reed family home. Avery, the gallery and other commercial space he owned downtown. The ranch belongs to Carrie now.”
Meredith narrowed her eyes. “Like hell it does.”
“Sit down,” Damon told the fiery brunette.
“You don’t tell me what to do.” Meredith’s voice cracked on the last word, and she swallowed hard. “I’m out of here. Niall didn’t care about me when he was alive. Why should I care about his wishes now that he’s gone?”
Before anyone could stop her, Meredith fled the room. The door to the office banged against the wall in her wake.
Damon looked toward Carrie, sympathy and compassion filling his tired gaze. “It’s worse than we thought. He owed a lot of money to a lot of people, Carrie.”
She gave a shaky nod. “I’ll deal with it,” she promised. “Give me some time.” She rose from her chair and turned to Avery. “I have an appointment right now but will be at the gallery after one. Come by and we’ll talk about...next steps.”
Then she left, as well. Avery wanted to follow but felt rooted in place. A man she didn’t know—her father—had left her his art gallery along with some overmortgaged real estate. She’d never even seen one of his paintings in person. She had two half sisters, who seemed to hate each other in equal measure to their ambivalence toward her. Just when she thought life couldn’t get worse, it did.
“We can talk in more detail about the assets and debts Niall left behind when you’ve had time to process everything,” the attorney said, the words a clear dismissal.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought I’d be here for a day at the most.”
He chuckled. “Niall didn’t make things easy—not when he was alive and not now. It will take a while to even begin to sort this out. Welcome to Magnolia.”
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Major
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ISBN: 9781488069543
The Mayor’s Secret Fortune
Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowlegment are given to Judy Duarte for her contribution to The Fortunes of Texas: Rambling Rose continuity.
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 is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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