The Secret Heiress

by Terri Reed

  His sister stood rooted in place, her hazel gaze studying Caroline. “Why are you here?”

  “Lilly, don’t be rude. Your granddad invited them. She’s here to get to know her family.”

  The girl snorted her disapproval. “More like she wants his money.”

  “No, I don’t,” Caroline blurted quickly. “That’s not why I’m here at all.” She turned her gaze to Abigail. “I just want to know where I came from.”

  “Of course, you do,” Abigail said, exaggerated understanding lacing her words. “Don’t pay them any mind.”

  Landon pulled open the front door. He glared at his sister.

  “Come on, Lilly. You have to help.”

  Abruptly, Lilly turned and followed her brother out into the rain.

  Abigail let out a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t wait until they outgrow the surly stage.”

  Caroline gave a silent sigh of her own. She didn’t want to explain her reason for being here any further to her increasingly worrisome relatives.

  A middle-age man came out of the adjacent room. “I see our guests have arrived,” his deep voice boomed.

  “Yes, darling,” Abigail said. “Come meet your niece and her young man.”

  He held out his hand to Don first. “Samuel Maddox.”

  “Donovan Cavanaugh. Call me Don.”

  “Good of you to come, Don.” Samuel turned his attention to Caroline with a welcoming smile. “I’m so happy to meet you, Caroline.”

  As she shook his hand, she couldn’t help staring into his amber eyes and feeling like she was looking in a mirror. He had raven-colored hair and an olive complexion, much like her own. A blood relative. Her uncle.

  “Where are those kids?” Abigail gestured toward the front door with a graceful, bejeweled hand. “Sam, darling, the children are supposed to be bringing in our guests’ bags. I’m afraid they may have gotten distracted by the split oak.”

  The front door burst open on her last word and the twins stumbled in tugging the suitcases behind them. The sound of heavy rain pelting the earth filled the entryway until Lilly slammed the door shut. Pervading humidity made the house damp like a mausoleum. The teens shook their heads, like shaggy dogs, spraying water on everything within reach of the flying droplets.

  Abigail said nothing to the twins, though her lips pursed in disapproval. Instead, she turned back to Caroline and Don. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  Don handed Caroline the candle, then he grabbed the cases and followed behind. The second story was decorated much like the downstairs—once-elegant furnishings worn bare and shabby. As they passed the open door of one room, Caroline glanced in. Aided by the glow from the candle she carried, she caught the brief impression of cotton-candy-pink walls and ruffles. Most certainly Lilly’s domain. Yet the girl didn’t seem like the frilly type.

  Abigail led them to the end of the hall and stopped before a closed door. “Mr. Cavanaugh, you’ll stay here. Caroline, you will be over here.” She moved to the closed door directly across the hall and pushed the door open with a flourish.

  Caroline entered to find a beautiful four-poster canopy bed with white linens, a dresser and a vanity and spindle chair. A bench seat stretched beneath the window overlooking the back of the property.

  Don set her suitcase on the floor just inside the door. A flash of lightning, lit up the window, making the delicate lace window coverings appear translucent. A second later thunder rumbled. Caroline noticed Don’s slight flinch. She was glad they’d made it to the house before the storm had worsened.

  “As soon as you come back downstairs we’ll serve dinner,” Abigail said, clearly unperturbed by the raging weather outside.

  Caroline waited until the other woman was out of earshot to whisper to Don, “I hate to think that one of these people wants me and my grandfather dead.”

  “Your uncle has the most to gain with you out of the way,” Don stated. “He’d be the sole heir apparent.”

  She swallowed back the unease clogging her throat.

  Her uncle had greeted her with such warmth. He, like Elijah, had seemed truly glad to see her. Was it all an act? She’d have to use her time here to find the truth. It was the only way she could be safe—and the only way to help her grandfather. Elijah Maddox needed someone to believe him. Someone to protect him. And with her private bodyguard/fake fiancé’s help, she was that someone. And maybe while she searched for answers, she’d be able to learn about her mother, as well—something she’d wanted to do for as long as she could remember.

  Despite the apparent danger, she was staying.

  Don escorted Caroline to the dining room to find the family already seated at the formal table. Three tall candelabras spaced equal distances apart on the table provided barely adequate light.

  Two empty places awaited them. Sensing tension as thick as mortar smoke, Don curbed his desire to whisk Caroline out of the creepy place and instead held out the empty chair next to her uncle at the far end of the table. Landon sat in the chair next to her. Don rounded the table to sit across from Caroline on Samuel’s left next to Lilly. Abigail sat at the opposite end of the table. Gold-rimmed china gleamed in the candlelight.

  “Lucky for us, dinner was ready before the power went down,” Abigail said.

  “Horace mentioned there was a back-up generator?” Don asked.

  “Yes, in the cellar,” Samuel answered. “It’s gas powered. I told Horace it could wait until after dinner.”

  “Dining by candlelight is such a treat,” Abigail said. “Don’t you agree, Caroline?”

  “The candles certainly add ambiance,” Caroline replied.

  An older woman emerged from a swinging door carrying a steaming platter of vegetables, Horace followed with a platter of sliced roast beef.

  “Asparagus? Ugh,” Landon whined as the woman placed the green spears on his plate.

  “Mind your manners, young man,” Samuel said.

  Landon shot a venomous glance toward Caroline, as if she were to blame for the vegetables. Perhaps the kids were not required to eat veggies regularly. Still, the animosity coming off the kid grated on Don. He pinned the boy with a stare until Landon noticed and dropped his gaze to his plate.

  “Elijah’s illness, was it sudden?” Don asked Samuel, trying to gage his reaction.

  A look of sadness passed over the older man’s face. “This fall he suffered a nasty bout of pneumonia. According to Dr. Reese, the pneumonia triggered an Addison crisis.”

  “His body attacked his glands and chewed ’em up like mini, hungry carnivores,” Lilly said with relish before stabbing a chunk of meat and devouring it in one bite.

  “Gross,” Landon complained, dropping his fork with a clatter.

  “Lilly, that’s enough,” Abigail commanded.

  “But it’s true,” she countered with a smirk at her brother.

  “Yes, it’s true,” Samuel said. “Father’s body attacked his adrenal glands. It’s an autoimmune disease.”

  Samuel had confirmed what Elijah had said. Don knew very little of the disease but he did know that with proper treatment, people who had it could live fairly normal lives. It didn’t make sense that Elijah was still so sick.

  “Dr. Reese has tried everything to bring the disease under control, but my father’s body isn’t cooperating.” The sadness in Samuel’s eyes appeared genuine. But it could have been a trick of the flickering candle flame.

  Don met Caroline’s gaze across the table. Candlelight shadowed the contours of her pretty face but he could see her unspoken concern. Was someone slowly killing Elijah, or was he dying a natural death?

  As soon as he could, Don would contact Dr. Reese and find out. But the old man wasn’t Don’s primary concern.

  Caroline neede
d him to protect her. He’d promised. And he never broke a promise.

  Even though his gut instinct screamed for him to get Caroline away from the ominous events unfolding around them.

  THREE

  “My smart phone won’t pick up a signal. Not even roaming will latch on long enough to get a call out.” Frustration laced each of Don’s words. “With the landline down and no wireless service, there’s no way to contact the outside world right now.”

  Inside Caroline’s room, he paced in front of the closed door. The light from two brass hurricane lamps elongated his shadow across the wall making him appear like a sinister giant. But Caroline knew a kind spirit lay inside the professional bodyguard.

  And a wounded soul.

  The thunder clearly unnerved him. Every time an angry clap split through the air, he tensed. His expression took on a haunted appearance making her ache for him. He’d seen battle. The scar on his hand must be a constant reminder of the horrors he’d lived through. Obviously, he carried scars on his psyche, as well.

  Everything inside her wanted to comfort him, make him feel safe. How crazy was that? She was the one in danger, but he was the one she wanted to reassure that all was well.

  Maybe they needed each other.

  The thought left her unbalanced. She didn’t want to need anyone. Even a handsome bodyguard. Especially a handsome bodyguard. She’d trust him with her safety, but she wasn’t ready to trust a man with her heart again. Not after what had happened with Cullen.

  A quick check of her cell phone proved fruitless. Frustration throbbed at her temple. “No service for me, either.”

  Tossing the phone onto the bed, she went to stand by the window overlooking the back of the house. She could barely make out the inky outline of trees in the distance. Rain pelted the window with a rhythmic tap that vibrated through her temple. “Have you noticed there isn’t a single Christmas decoration in this house?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve been a bit distracted what with someone trying to kill you and now the storm trapping us here.”

  “Right. I’m sure this isn’t how you expected to spend your Christmas.”

  “You hired me to do a job. The date doesn’t matter.”

  A knot formed in her chest. She turned to face him. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?”

  There was brief hesitation. “I do.”

  “As an expression of faith?”

  His expression shuttered closed. “Yes.”

  Relief plucked the knot loose. But something in his voice, his guarded eyes, made her think he didn’t truly trust God. “But…?”

  He shrugged. “War makes you question your beliefs.”

  She knew firsthand that there were many things that could make a person question their faith. Unexpected death. Betrayal. Anger. She shied away from those thoughts and focused on the warrior in front of her.

  She hated to think of the terrors he’d witnessed in a war zone on the other side of the world. The evil men did to each other was sickening. “How long were you in the service?”

  “Ten years. I enlisted at eighteen. I’ve been out for four years.”

  She glanced at his right hand. In the dim glow of candlelight his scars weren’t visible. “That’s where you injured your hand.”

  He flexed his fingers. “Yes. It could have been worse.”

  “What happened?”

  “An IED—an improvised explosive device—used by insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  Her gut clenched. It could have been worse. He could have lost his hand—or his life.

  A loud bang, like a huge piece of furniture falling somewhere in the house, startled her. “What was that?”

  “I’ll go find out,” Don said and opened the door.

  “I’m coming with you.” Grabbing the candle, she hurried after him.

  They made their way downstairs. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. Light shimmered from the far end of a long hallway to the left of the entryway. They headed in that direction. The walls seemed to narrow, darkness and shadows closing in on Caroline as they passed several closed doors and entered the kitchen’s arched doorway.

  Several lit candles bathed the room in a warm comforting glow. Yellowed, floral wallpaper curled at the edges along the crown molding at the base of the walls. She imagined her birth mother staring at this same wallpaper. Caroline bet it had looked brighter, cleaner then.

  An old-fashioned white gas stove and oven stood next to a state-of-the-art stainless-steel refrigerator. The chipped tile counters hosted modern electric gadgets alongside beat-up older-model appliances. The woman who’d served dinner stood at the tub-style sink, hand washing the gold-rimmed dinnerware they’d eaten from earlier. She was round all over and looked to be on the far side of her golden years. Her short, choppy gray hair curled from the steam rising from the soapy water.

  “Excuse me?” Don said.

  The woman started and whipped around to face them. A hand went to her throat. “Mercy, I’m likely to have a heart attack, you scared me so.”

  “We’re sorry,” Caroline said with a smile.

  “We heard a loud noise, is everything okay?” Don asked.

  The woman shrugged. “Must’ve been one of the kids slamming a door. They’re always slamming the doors.”

  Caroline glanced at Don. He looked as doubtful as she felt.

  “I’m Caroline and this is Don. Are you Mary?”

  The older woman nodded. Wary shadows darkened the irises of her light brown eyes. “I know who you are. You come from up north. You’re Ms. Isabella’s daughter.”

  “You knew my mother?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I helped raise both of Mr. Elijah and Mrs. Mauve’s children. I help now with Mrs. Abigail’s twins, too.” She shook her head. “Those two are like mad cats in a pillow case dawn to dusk.”

  The description of the teens sparked a bit of humor in Caroline. Abigail had her hands full for sure. Sobering, Caroline asked, “What can you tell me about my mother?”

  A sorrow-filled smile touched the older woman’s face. “She was a lovely child. Quiet. Obedient.” Mary turned back to the sink.

  “Do you know where Samuel is?” Don asked, tension coming off him in waves.

  “Most likely with the missus in the parlor or upstairs in their rooms. They have the whole west side of the second floor.”

  “And Horace? Where is he?”

  She cocked her head. “I figure you might try outside. A tree fell across the driveway.”

  “Yes, we saw that,” Caroline said.

  Lightning zigzagged across the sky, the bright light visible through the kitchen window. Thunder rattled the glass. Don inhaled sharply. Caroline touched his arm, aware of how the storm was affecting him. His muscle jumped beneath her hand. She had a feeling it wasn’t the weather but something more that was causing such intense reactions to the thunder and lightning. Flashbacks to his time in the military?

  “Do storms like these happen often here?” Caroline asked.

  Picking up a dish towel, Mary faced them as she dried a plate and stacked it neatly on the counter. “Occasionally. This one here’s not so bad. Other than the lightning hitting so close to the house.” She seemed unfazed by the narrow margin of disaster that could have been. “And there is a storm cellar in case a tornado kicks up.”

  Caroline blinked. Visions of being swept away like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz flashed in her mind. “Tornado?”

  They definitely weren’t in Boston anymore.

  “One hasn’t touched down in the valley in years,” Mary said.

  Well, that was some comfort. Still she couldn’t help but imagine flying cows and monkeys.

  “We should go find your uncle,
” Don prompted.

  He was right, but she had more questions for Mary. “I’d like to stay here.”

  For a moment, he contemplated her request, his gaze darting to Mary and back, before slowly nodding. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  “I will,” she assured him. He left, taking a candle with him.

  Mary eyed her curiously. “You want to talk to me, miss?”

  “About my mother.”

  Mary nodded and resumed her dishwashing. “What would you like to know?”

  “You said as a child she was quiet, obedient. What was she like as an adult?”

  “Proud. Stubborn. Full of dreams.”

  So that was where Caroline’s streak of stubbornness came from. Interesting. What else did they have in common? “What did she dream of?”

  Mary bustled about, putting the dinnerware in a cabinet. “Not my place to say, ma’am.”

  “Please, I need to know.”

  Mary pressed her lips together for a moment. Caroline was afraid she’d refuse to answer. She held her breath.

  “She wanted to be a lawyer. She’d gone off to that fancy school to study law. Mr. Elijah was none too happy about it.”

  Remembering Elijah’s comment, Caroline asked, “What did Elijah want her to do?”

  “Be a proper Southern woman. Marry well, have children.”

  She’d had a child. But she’d given her up. Why? And what about marriage—what had been her relationship with Caroline’s father? “Do you know who my father is?”

  Mary shook her head and turned away, but not before Caroline saw a flash of something—Anguish? Regret?—in her eyes.

  Quick footsteps coming down the hall prevented Caroline from probing for more information. She turned as Abigail glided into the kitchen, holding a pewter candlestick with a deep purple candle attached. The candle’s flame made Abigail’s complexion look sallow.

  “Here you are, Caroline. What on earth are you doing in the kitchen? Let Mary get her work done in peace.” She tsked and took Caroline’s arm. “Don and Samuel are outside helping Horace with the tree. Come, let us get better acquainted.”