by Susan Meier
“No answer?”
She passed a hand through her hair. “My life is in shambles. Not something you should be getting involved with. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
He faced her. “I mean it. Watching you on that video.” He shook his head. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. And crazy as this is going to sound, I liked that you didn’t do it for me. You did it for yourself.”
She swallowed hard.
He opened his arms. “Come here. I love you.”
She raced over, threw herself against him. “I love you too. I think I always did. But it was so much.”
“Too much,” he agreed before he kissed her.
They broke apart slowly and stared into each other’s eyes. “I actually do live in Key West now.”
“Charlotte told me.”
He laughed. “She does like being the link that keeps us all together.” He kissed her again.
“What about Waters, Waters and Montgomery?”
“I didn’t really want to work for them as much as I simply wanted to practice my craft. Believe it or not, there’s a market for good lawyers in the Keys. But I don’t have to deal with crazy, fighting families. I write wills, help with property transfers, write a lot of agreements for the businessmen who want the same thing I do—peace and quiet and the ability to fish when I want to.”
She laughed.
“I love it there. Would you care if we lived there?”
She laughed. “Sun and warm weather all year round... And you and Rex? I’d love living there too.”
“And maybe we can get married in Paris?”
“I liked Scotland. You think the MacDonalds would let us use the compound?”
“I think they’re family, and they’d be happy to have us.”
“So, it’s settled. Another wedding in Scotland.”
“Another wedding in Scotland.” He peeked at her. “Next summer?”
She stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips across his. “Next summer.” She grinned. “Get a kilt.”
He threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the small apartment and followed them to the limo and the airstrip where his private jet awaited.
When they were in the air, Marnie sank into the plush seat and closed her eyes.
This was the rest of her life. And it would be a good one.
No more fears.
No more worries.
No more secrets.
EPILOGUE
DESPITE THE HEAVY snow falling on Mannington, Kansas, on Christmas Eve night, the Hinton family’s smallest jet made a safe landing at the private airstrip. Marnie bundled up Rex for the walk from the airplane’s steps to the limo Jace had waiting, as Danny grabbed the handle for Wiggles’s carrier.
He groaned. “We’ve got to buy him diet dog food.”
“Don’t be silly. He’s a Lab. He’s growing.”
They stepped out into the big, fat, fluffy flakes that fell around them, creating a winter wonderland.
“I can see why Leni doesn’t want to leave here.”
Marnie looked around in awe. “Yeah. But this cold white stuff will get old in a week or two. I like the ocean. The sun.”
When they reached the limo, Danny opened the door for her. It was one of the compromises they had found. They needed to be able to do simple, normal things for themselves and each other.
Before Marnie slid Rex into the car seat, she removed his big coat, fastening him into the seat wearing only his hoodie. Danny had already gotten the sermon on how big coats can leave the harness too loose. So, he said nothing, just followed her into the car when Rex was secure.
“Nervous?”
“About seeing your entire family again?” She laughed. Wearing a black wool coat with her auburn hair tucked under a thick white knit cap and a matching scarf wrapped around her neck, she looked like she was prepared for frozen tundra, not a snowstorm in Middle America. “I did an interview that caused every person in Manhattan to know who I was. I’ve handled worse than the six sets of parents at your sister’s house.”
He took her hand, kissed the knuckles. “You’ve been very brave.”
She laughed. “Stop teasing.”
He couldn’t help it. He loved hearing her laugh. There’d been something about her from the very first second he’d met her. Something that had drawn him. On the deepest level, he’d known he’d fight heaven and earth to keep her, and in some ways he had.
The limo driver took them to the door of the huge house Nick and Leni had built. Danny pulled the hood of Rex’s sweatshirt up to cover his head and raced inside, Marnie on his heels.
They stepped into the high-ceilinged foyer, open to almost the entire first floor amid a cry of “Merry Christmas!”
Removing Rex’s hood, Danny said, “Merry Christmas!” as his family poured over to hug Marnie first, then him. As always, someone took Wiggles’s crate to let him loose and someone scooped his son away from him. This time it was Penny.
“He’s so cute!”
“You’re going to have your own cute grandchild in a few months.”
A round, pregnant Charlotte grinned. Jace shook his head, laughing.
Penny glanced at Danny. “Technically, Rex is my grandson too... Step-grandson.” She winced. “Good gravy, we have a lot of family.”
A laugh erupted from the group. Leni’s adoptive parents, Danny’s adoptive parents, Leni and Nick, Nick’s parents, Charlotte and Jace, Mark and Penny—
And Danny and Marnie. It had almost taken a miracle to get them together.
As if reading Danny’s mind, Mark slipped away from his new wife, over to Danny. “Thank you for coming, son.”
For the first time, having Mark call him son didn’t send blistering anger crackling along Danny’s nerve endings.
He glanced at Marnie, who’d removed her coat and walked into the kitchen area. She took one of Leni’s cookies, bit into it, and her face filled with bliss. Going through what she had, had shown Danny the realities of what Mark had been facing every time he’d brought a child into this world and made him see the validity of Mark’s fears.
But Marnie had also taught him to count his blessings, see the good before the bad. Not care so much about how or why and simply enjoy the life with which he’d been blessed—
He’d go through it all again, because she’d been worth it.
And this reunion, the huge family created by parents, adoptive parents, kids and of course Penny and Mark, might be the payoff Mark had always lived for. A time when he could be with his kids, have the family he’d longed for, finally be a real dad.
“You don’t think I’d miss Nick and Leni’s Christmas Eve party, do you—” he glanced around, then caught Mark’s gaze “—Dad?”
Mark’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s the best Christmas gift I ever got.”
Danny clasped his shoulder and maneuvered him in the direction of the kitchen area, where everyone had gathered around a baked ham, homemade rolls and so many cookies Danny was sure no one could count them. A huge Christmas tree decorated with white lights and red bows sat by the fireplace in the adjoining family room, and Christmas carols played softly in the background.
“Oh, so you don’t want the watch I bought you?”
Mark sniffed. “I think I have forty of them.”
Danny threw his head back and laughed. All animosity, all confusion, wiped away.
As Penny ambled to the big center island with the promise of a cookie to Rex, with Leni and Nick taking drink requests while Jace talked on his phone handling a teeny-tiny problem with a rock star who wanted Tiffany’s opened because he forgot to get his mom a gift, Danny joined Marnie by the platter of cookies.
He slid his arm along her shoulders. “We
lcome to the rest of your life.”
She cuddled against him. “It’s going to be an adventure, remember?”
He laughed. “Yes. It is.”
* * *
If you missed the previous stories in The Missing Manhattan Heirs trilogy, look out for
Cinderella’s Billion-Dollar Christmas
The Bodyguard and the Heiress
And if you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Susan Meier
Falling for the Pregnant Heiress
A Diamond for the Single Mom
Carrying the Billionaire’s Baby
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Year with the Millionaire Next Door by Barbara Wallace
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A Year with the Millionaire Next Door
by Barbara Wallace
PROLOGUE
Actress Leaves Fortune to Pet!
Dame Agnes Moreland, who passed away last month, left her entire estate, solicitors have revealed, to Etonia Toffee Pudding—a ten-year-old pedigreed Turkish Angora.
The cat was listed as the sole recipient of Ms. Moreland’s £11.2 million fortune. The funds are to be placed in an independently managed trust for the feline’s care.
According to the terms of her will, Ms. Moreland’s only living relative, her nephew, Theodore Moreland, of London, England, will inherit the remainder of the estate upon the cat’s death.
Considered by many to be a grand dame of English theater, Agnes Moreland first gained recognition for her performance as Adelaide in Come the Night in 1951.
During her career she received countless honors and awards, leading to her receiving a DBE in 2012. In her later years she was known for her eccentricity, which included traveling with her pet.
An outside estate manager has been hired to care for the cat and manage the property.
CHAPTER ONE
Summer
STELLA STOOD ON the rooftop terrace and breathed in the warm summer air. Before her lay Belgravia, the London neighborhood whose stucco mansions and crescent-shaped streets once played home to Neville Chamberlain and Ian Fleming. Now she would walk in their footsteps.
She allowed herself a satisfied sigh. “Congratulations, Stella. You finally made it to the penthouse.” And it only took a nervous breakdown to make it happen.
Her parents would say she was being overly dramatic. They preferred the term burnout, or better yet, no term at all, as if her freezing in midtown traffic had never happened.
Whatever the term—or lack thereof—she was here, in London, living in a luxury penthouse for the next twelve months. A pretty decent perk if she said so herself.
“What do you say, boss? Should we continue unpacking?” she asked.
Etonia Toffee Pudding lay across the top of a bespoke velvet sofa as if she owned it—which she did. Until this morning, the Angora had been bunking with Peter Singh, the estate’s attorney, and upon returning home, she had wasted no time reclaiming her space. She blanked her mismatched eyes in response to Stella’s question.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Stella adjusted the band that was keeping her hair out of her face. The chin-length bob was supposed to be low maintenance. Unfortunately, no one told her bangs were not.
Across the room, a portrait of Dame Agnes Moreland looked down from over the mantel, a sleepy-eyed smile playing on the late actress’s lips as though she was laughing at a bunch of humans kowtowing to her pet.
“I may talk to her, but if you think I’m going to start carrying the animal around like you did, you’re crazy,” Stella said. Taking care of the cat was part of the job, same as managing the estate’s property and investments. The cat wasn’t a pet. “Right, kitty?”
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Sharp, loud raps that made Stella jump. “What the...?” The apartment occupied one half of the top floor and was accessible only by private elevator. The only other person up here would be her neighbor from across the hall.
The knocking continued. Etonia Toffee Pudding disappeared under the sofa fringe.
“I’m coming!” Stella called. If this was how the person planned to introduce themselves, it was going to be a long year.
Looking through the peephole, she saw a man in a tweed jacket. He had thinning gray hair and blotchy skin, the kind of complexion that came from spending too much time indoors. He didn’t look like the kind of neighbor who popped in for a cup of coffee. If he even was her neighbor. To play things safe, she slid the door chain in place before opening it.
The man’s eyes looked her up and down through the opening, clearly unimpressed with her cutoff shorts and Big Apple T-shirt. “My name is Theodore Moreland,” he announced, the words reaching Stella on a waft of pungent mint. “Is the estate manager available?”
So, not the neighbor, but Dame Agnes’s nephew. Peter had warned her about him.
“I’m the estate manager,” she answered. “Stella Russo.”
Moreland scowled. Stella tamped down the flutter of insecurity that always bothered her when facing disapproval.
His opinion doesn’t mean anything, Stella. You’re the one in charge.
Lessons from her childhood kicked in—when in doubt, act as if you don’t care—and she lifted her chin. “What can I do for you, Mr. Moreland?”
“To begin, you can open the door and let me inside,” he said.
No, Stella didn’t think so. At least not until she talked to Peter Singh. According to all accounts, Theodore Moreland had taken the terms of his aunt’s will very poorly and was actively working to have the will declared invalid. Letting him inside would only invite disaster.
“I’m not really prepared to receive guests today,” she told him. “I’m still unpacking and getting acquainted with my new boss.”
“Are you refusing to let me enter my aunt’s home?”
“You mean Etonia Toffee Pudding’s home,” she said, “and yes, I am.”
Moreland’s jowls flapped as he worked his jaw up and down. “How dare you. You have no right—”
“Actually, as the estate manager, I do. I’m in charge of all comings and goings, in fact.” She made a mental note to talk to the downstairs security guard about calling before sending visitors upstairs. “Perhaps in a day or two, when I’m settled in, you and Peter can come by and we can talk.”
Stella had never actually heard a man harrumph before. His mottled skin turned cranberry, calling attention to the veins crisscrossing his nose. The color reminded Stella of the drunks that used to sleep on the benches in central London. For that matter, so did the sheen in his eyes.
“Well, I never,” he said in a minty huff. “I insist you let me in in this instance.”
“I’ve already said no. You’re going to have to come back next week.” No longer feeling polite, she went to shut the door in his face, only to have him jam his foot between the door and frame.
Shoot.
“Is there a problem?” a voice asked.
“No,” she and Moreland replied together.
A face appeared behind Moreland’s shoulder. This one was far more attractive, with eyes the color of the Atlantic Ocean. The newcomer looked back and forth between them. “Causing trouble, Teddy?”
“This is none of your concern, Collier,” Moreland replied.
“Mr. Moreland was just leaving,” Stella added. “Weren’t you, Mr. Moreland?”
“Is that why his foot’s in the door?” the stranger asked.
“Agnes Moreland was my aunt. As her only living relative, it’s my responsibility to make sure her pro
perty is managed soundly.”
“Funny. I thought she asked that an estate manager be hired for that job. In fact, I distinctly remember that you weren’t named caretaker.”
Moreland’s face grew redder. “This is none of your business.”
“Au contraire, Teddy. I own half of this floor, which means you’re causing a row on my property. That makes it very much my business. Now, Ms....?”
Stella smiled. “Russo. Stella Russo.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Russo. Would you like Teddy, I mean, Mr. Moreland, to leave?”
“Yes, I would.”
“There you have it, then. We would both like you to leave. Hopefully you will do so without further fuss. Otherwise, I might have to call security, and I don’t think any of us want the unnecessary attention. Do we, Teddy?”
Moreland’s caterpillar eyebrows merged together as he glared at the two of them. For a moment, Stella thought he might argue. In the end, however, common sense won out. “I’ll be back,” he said.
Stella couldn’t wait.
* * *
Linus pretended to fiddle with his keys until Moreland stepped on the elevator. He would be back soon enough, asserting his rights as Agnes’s nephew. “My nephew is nothing if not predictable,” Dame Agnes used to say. That poor estate manager was going to have her hands full.
When the news first reported that she’d left her money to her cat, Linus was probably the only person in all of London who wasn’t surprised. Dame Agnes spent her life being strong willed and eccentric. Why would anyone expect her to be different in death? When it came to finding someone to actually carry out Agnes’s wishes, Linus assumed the law firm would hire some kind of professional cat lady. Someone older, who wore cardigan sweaters and pearls.
Shame on him, because from what he could see of his new neighbor, she wasn’t old, and she definitely didn’t wear cardigans. She had better legs than he’d imagined, too. He caught a glimpse of them—all right, he took a good look—before she shut the door. Those cutoff shorts were splendidly short. God bless current fashion.