The California sun had gifted him with a deep tan, making his blue eyes all the more intense. Golden highlights teased through his light brown hair, glinting off rays of light that filtered through the oak trees.
“I’m Grant Walker.” There was confidence in his stance—shoulders held back, his chin lifted just a hair. His body language boiled down to one trait. Pride.
The picture of Edward Walker was small, but if he had looked anything like his grandson, Natalie had a good idea why her grandmother had kept his picture.
“I’m Natalie Cohen. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your grandfather, Edward Walker.”
“I see.” He studied her again. “I take it you were the one who hired the PI.”
“Yes. From what I understand, Edward passed away last year.”
“That’s right.”
Her heart clenched. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how difficult it is to lose someone. My own grandmother passed away recently.”
He nodded in grim understanding. “I’m not sure I can help you.”
“I’m hoping you can.” She stepped forward, handing him the picture of Edward. “I found that in my grandma’s belongings along with a few letters from your grandfather.”
* * *
Stunned, Grant stared at the youngest image he had ever seen of his grandpa. His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Where did you find this again?”
“In my grandmother’s belongings, tucked away with other family photos and letters.”
“Who was your grandmother?” His gaze was drawn back to the man who had taught him how to care for the orchard.
She stepped closer to him, peering at the photograph.“Her name was Adele Cunningham, but her maiden name was Evans. Have you heard of her?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. He never mentioned her.”
“Are you sure?”
Distress coated her voice, forcing his eyes back to her. White hot desire hit him, the same potency as when she had first stepped out of her car.
Classy, cultured, with a hint of vanity. Her ebony hair hung pin-straight down her back, intended, he was certain, not to detract from the clean lines of her black blouse and tight cherry-red slacks, but he found his eyes drawn to the cascade of black.
She was slim, and looked even more so in the spiked heels that were miraculously not stuck in the dirt.
But there was something else there too. He could see it in the way her spine stiffened, the way her chin notched up.
Grit.
“I’m certain. My grandfather was a happily married man. I would have noticed if he mentioned another woman.”
“But the letters… they had to have known each other.”
“I can’t explain them. But if they knew each other, my grandfather never mentioned it.”
“It would have been a long time ago. Fairly soon after this picture was taken.”
Flipping to the back he saw the date before his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything more.”
“Perhaps he kept journals,” she pressed.
He held up his hand to stop her. “Listen, Miss Cohen. I don’t know who you are or what you are hoping to accomplish by digging into this. But let me be clear. I don’t want you involved in my grandfather’s business. He was a well respected man, lived a good life. Whether or not he was involved with your grandmother, or even knew her, doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me. I have to know.” When her eyes lit with determination, he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or even more attracted to her.
His impatience rose, but he worked to keep his voice controlled. “Why? Why does this matter so much?”
“My grandmother meant the world to me. If Edward Walker was important enough for her to remember all these years, I think I owe it to her to find out why.” He felt her probe for weakness. “I’ll find out everything I want to know. With or without your help. But understand this, I won’t ever stop.”
Standing on his property, she jutted her chin out in challenge.
There were two options. He could refuse her and order her off of his land. But he knew that she would only continue her search for information, perhaps stretching it out for years and harassing him in the process until she got what she wanted. Or he could cooperate with her, go through a few of his grandfather’s things and end this quickly.
He loathed adding another problem to his list, but the first option would cause him more frustration in the long run.
“If I help you, no more private investigators. I won’t have anyone else digging through my family history.”
She nodded quickly as if sensing a win. “I can agree to that. But I want to have access to all of his writings.”
“Absolutely not. Everything in his journals is private.” He silenced her when she began to argue. “However, I am willing to read through them and if there’s something about your grandmother or anything that might give us a clue as to their relationship, I’ll share it with you.”
She nodded grudgingly. “That’s fair, I guess. When can we start?”
“I’ll need to find the journals first. After that, I’m not sure how long it will take me to get through them. Why don’t you come back on Sunday and we’ll piece together a history of their lives. See if anything overlaps. That should give us a good place to start and narrow down a timeline.”
Her lips curved. “I appreciate that. I’ll be here.” She turned toward her car before swiveling back to him. “I know you don’t want me here, and I know that I pushed, which is totally annoying. But thank you for helping me anyway.”
Her gratitude rocked him back on his heels, forcing him to reevaluate her. Perhaps there was more to her than her clothes implied.
He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you Sunday.” He waited until she backed up her car and drove down the lane before returning inside.
It wasn’t until hours, and several more headaches, later that he was able to think of the brief meeting with Natalie Cohen.
Sitting on his porch, his foot propped up on the railing, a cold beer sweating in his hand, he stared out at the quiet night. It had cooled off considerably in the last few hours, the brisk ocean air blowing in over the land.
As Grant leisurely viewed his property, inevitable pride swelled in his chest. His legacy. His birthright. Generations of Walkers had worked the land, pouring their sweat and blood into the earth as freely as they did water. They had built something here, and he was adding to it.
He didn’t regret one moment that he’d spent with the land. She was a jealous lover, but he didn’t resent it. She was constant and yet somehow always changing, always bringing forth new life.
He enjoyed women, thought them each beautiful in their own right, but none had ever fascinated him like the orchard did. No one had generated a sense of longing or the level of satisfaction to match what he felt when he looked out of his window. He wasn’t sure if a woman could.
A set of headlights flashed down his drive, surprising him, but they weren’t unwelcome. The owner of the silver BMW that pulled in front of the house was a frequent visitor.
Noah Walker climbed out of the vehicle, matching the car in both polish and sophistication. His three-piece suit, a dark charcoal color, was only a little lighter than his hair. Longer than was fashionable, his hair was slicked back, drawing attention to the sharp angles of his face. Noah’s looks had caused many hearts to break and others, particularly in the courtroom, to tremble. It was a weapon that his brother had honed over the years, sharpening it with lethal accuracy.
“Got another beer?” he asked, making his way up the porch.
“In the fridge.” Grant nodded toward the door. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks.” After retrieving it, Noah settled into the chair beside Grant, not bothering to take measures to protect his clothes from the ever-present layer of dirt that coated the yellow fabric seat.
“How’d it go today? Did you win?” Grant asked, knowing his
brother had been in court.
“Don’t I always?” Noah flashed a cynical smile. “She got what she was fighting for.”
“How you stand to deal with squabbling couples all day is beyond me.”
“Same goes, little brother. I had enough of the great outdoors growing up to last me a lifetime.”
Grant chuckled into his beer. Despite having been raised here and working side-by-side with him, his brother had never gained a connection to the land.
As the first-born son, Noah should have inherited the orchard, taking it on as a lifelong responsibility, but he hadn’t wanted that. Neither had their father. The Walkers thought it best all around that Grant inherit, the only person who would appreciate the legacy.
Noah took a long swig of his drink. “Any updates on the trees?”
“Nothing yet. Detective Ryan is still working on it.”
“Have there been any others?”
“No. I’m hoping that’s the last of it. The poisoned trees had to be ripped out and the land is being treated. It will still take some time before we can replant, though.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Noah asked, “Who could be doing this? It’s not like you have enemies. Or do you?”
“Not nearly as many as you do. How many irate ex-husbands have you fleeced in court?” Noah snorted. “But seriously, I don’t know who I’ve pissed off enough to stoop to this level. I can’t imagine any of my competitors doing this. What would be the point?”
“What about your sellers? Were they unhappy with the deals?”
Grant shook his head slowly, turning over each deal in his mind. “As far as I could tell they were all satisfied with the sales.”
“Maybe it was some punk with an I-hate-the-world complex that had to get out some aggression. A little sabotage to make them feel better. Perhaps that was the last of it.”
Grant agreed before slipping into silence. Bringing up the poisoned trees made him think of the woman from earlier.
Natalie.
The name fit. Snooty enough to match the clothes, but it also had the down-to-earth vibe that he’d sensed from her. The differences in her personality interested him. Which was the real woman?
She was attractive. Any man would have to be blind not to notice that. Her long, black hair and cobalt eyes stood out against her pert nose and full lips. She was thin, almost too thin, but the muscles in her arms attested to her devotion to health and fitness instead of an eating disorder.
If she didn’t intend on digging into her grandfather’s past, he would welcome the time he’d be spending with her. Instead, he looked forward to it as grimly as a man assigned community service.
Adele Cunningham, he rolled the name around in his mind as he pulled out and examined old memories of his grandfather. If he had ever mentioned the woman, Grant didn’t remember it.
“A woman came by today,” Grant finally said.
“Oh? She must have been looking for me. Because I know they don’t come here looking for you.” Grant shot him a glare. “What? We both know that you don’t bother with a woman long enough for her to visit the orchard.”
It was true. But that went back to his thoughts of never finding one that held his interest long enough.
His brother laughed again. “Fine. What did she want?”
“She asked about Grandpa. Do you remember him ever mentioning an Adele Cunningham?”
“Not that I remember. Did this Adele woman say what she wanted?”
“No. Adele Cunningham was this woman’s grandmother. Apparently she just passed away and had a picture of Grandpa in her things.”
Noah shrugged before taking another sip. “Odd. But I don’t see why that’s so spectacular. I’m sure there are pictures of him floating all over the place.”
“This was a picture of him when he was young. 1938. I’ve never seen a photo this old of him.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed. “It’s possible that he knew her before he married Grandma. I’m sure he knew plenty of women back then.”
“I thought as much. But why would this woman have held onto it all these years?”
“Ever heard of hoarders? Or perhaps she was a crazy woman obsessed with him.” Noah said mockingly as he saluted the air. “It wouldn’t be the only time that happened to a Walker man.”
The bitterness that tinged his brother’s comment was unmistakable, but Grant couldn’t delve into the subject of Noah’s stalker at the moment. The woman who professed that Noah was the father of her unborn child had haunted Noah on and off for almost a year. The fact that he’d never had any type of physical relationship with her hadn’t deterred her one bit. In her mind, she and Noah had had a long, drawn-out relationship. The legal battle he now faced was only the latest drama in a long line of issues.
“What should I do about it? I don’t want her digging around into his private business.”
“Does it matter? It’s not like the man ever hid anything.”
“That’s not the point. He deserves his privacy even though he’s gone.”
Noah leaned forward, studying the condensation on his bottle. “What did she say when you told her so?”
Grant paused. “I didn’t exactly tell her no.”
“Oh, really?” Noah turned to him, clearly intrigued.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” Noah leaned back, enjoying himself.
Grant glared. “She said she wouldn’t stop looking into it. I thought that if I cooperated with her it would make the process go faster. Plus, I’ll be able to keep tabs on everything.”
“Makes sense.” He paused for a drink. “So when are you seeing her next?”
“Sunday. She’s coming over Sunday.”
“To the house?”
“Yeah.” Grant glanced at his brother when Noah didn’t answer. “Does that surprise you?”
“Actually, yes. You don’t usually invite women over. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I saw you bring one home.”
Grant shrugged. “She isn’t that kind of woman.”
“Aren’t they all that kind?” Noah’s sneered.
“You know what I mean. I’m not interested in her that way.”
“So she’s unattractive? Old?”
Grant shifted in his seat, cursing when Noah picked up on the movement. “No to either. But she’s not my type. She’s…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Cosmopolitan. She was wearing heels when she came here.”
“Heels?” His eyes flared in mock horror. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“Would you cut it out?”
Noah shook his head and laughed. “I can’t help it. They’re just shoes. You need to relax.”
Grant took a deep breath, holding it in his chest for a moment before releasing it in a smooth stream.
This wasn’t him. He was normally calm, laid back. Uneasy, he took another draw from his drink. “Crap. You’re right. This really isn’t a big deal. Besides, we’ll probably be able to uncover something quickly and then she’ll be done with her research.”
“Where will you start?”
“I thought I’d look through his stuff in the attic. I think he has his old journals up there.”
“You should talk to Dad too. Maybe he knows something that could save you a bunch of time.”
“Good idea.” Grant looked at his watch. It was eleven p.m. on the East coast, too late to call their father.
“Perhaps I can resolve this sooner than I thought,” he said hopefully. But in the back of his mind, he knew that he wouldn’t get rid of Natalie Cohen that easily.
“You’re prompt. Can’t say that’s something I expected.” Grant opened the front door wider in invitation.
She smiled ruefully. “Most people assume so. It’s the clothes. People think that if someone dresses with style they must be too busy staring at themselves to bother with schedules.” She walked in, her brown ankle boots making a soft noise against the polished wood floors. “It does
n’t help that I’m also a designer. Flighty,” she added with a wink.
Eyeing him, she couldn’t help but appreciate his build. Both as a designer and as a woman. His form was superb.
“A designer, huh? Of clothes, I take it.”
“Yep.” She held out her arms for his inspection before twirling.
A reluctant chuckle escaped his lips as he led her into the kitchen. “Is this okay?” He gestured to the table. “I thought it might be easier to work here instead of sitting on the couch.”
“Fine with me.” The table looked old, but when she sat in one of the chairs, the comforting worn wood surprised her. The rest of the kitchen was bright and warm. Lace curtains, buttery yellow walls, and gleaming white appliances. It had a homey feel she hadn’t expected to find in a bachelor’s house. It was a place that welcomed someone to put up their feet and enjoy a glass of lemonade on a hot summer’s day.
“Can I get you something? Coffee? Juice?” he offered.
“Coffee, please. Thanks.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Just cream.” She leaned back in her chair and watched him. He poured with an economy of movement, and she wondered if that was how he handled most things in life. “So how did you get started designing?”
“My grandmother.”
“Same grandmother that had the picture?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” she said when he handed her the steaming cup. He settled across from her, his posture relaxing against the ladderback chair. “My grandmother loved fashion and I often played dress up in her clothes when I was young.”
“Did you spend a lot of time with her?”
“Yes. She raised me after my mother died. My father was never in the picture.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been tough for you.”
She jerked a shoulder, brushing it off, but was thrown by the depth of emotion their conversation pulled from her. “It was. But she got me through. What about you? Did you always want to work in the orchard?”
A quick laugh escaped him. “Yes. But even if I hadn’t, there really wasn’t another option for me.” Seeing her confusion, he continued, “My father never had any intention of running the orchard after my grandfather, and it was obvious that my brother didn’t want it either. I was all that was left.”
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