by Tina Leonard
I miss the hell out of Dad. Wish I could hear his voice one last time.
A tall man with collar-length brown hair and slightly sunburned skin was shown in by the same cute receptionist who’d ushered the Dark family into the room earlier. He wore a suit, unlike the Darks, who were mostly clad in jeans, boots, and western shirts, their normal attire. He glanced around at them, clearly feeling as out of place as they did.
“Hi,” he said. “I guess this is the right room.”
“You’d have to ask the lady,” Santana said.
“She said this is the place.” He sat at the opposite end of the table, turned his head to stare out the window. The view was pretty good, but Santana had the feeling the guy wasn’t sure why he was here.
Which was a pretty damn good question. This was a private family dispersion of their father’s estate. He was surprised when the man turned his head, sending a fast peek Sierra’s way before focusing on the Albuquerque skyline again.
Santana glanced at Sierra. She shrugged, and rolled her eyes in true Sierra fashion, well aware the poor bastard had just checked her out. Sierra looked beautiful in a dress with purple flowers scattered over it, her silvery hair up high in a ponytail with only a purple rubber band to hold it there.
Santana tried not to smirk when the poor guy made the mistake of turning and gawking at Sierra once more. His brothers twisted in their seats, edgy and protective. Sierra glared at the poor guy—her typical demeanor when letting men know their attention was unwelcome.
The man’s ears turned a little red at the tops as he realized his error. But this time he stared back at all of them evenly, clearly not intimidated in the least.
Or if he was, he was a damn good bluffer.
Two suits hurried in, followed by two secretaries and a couple of other functionaries. Santana shrugged at his brothers, knowing they were equally surprised by the need for all these people to settle their simple, hardworking father’s trust. It seemed incongruous that a man who had lived and worked as hard and without fanfare as Sonny Dark would need this type of attention.
“Hello, everyone,” a tall, silver-haired man said to the room at large. “I’m Fairfax Morrow, and this is my associate, Darrow Smith.”
The two men sat in the leather chairs, and their secretaries settled papers at their elbows. Santana shifted, apprehensive.
“You must be Nick Marshall, I’m guessing,” Fairfax said to the stranger at the opposite end of the table.
“And you’re the Dark family, then. Sierra, obviously,” he said, nodding to her. “And you are?” he asked Santana.
“Santana. My brothers Romero, Cisco, and Luke.”
“Fine.” Fairfax studied the papers a moment, then looked up. “Your father was a client of our firm for twenty years, and we were privileged that he trusted us.”
Santana was astonished that his father had been coming here for twenty years. He could tell his siblings were as well.
“We were very sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a wonderful man. We respected him greatly.” Fairfax looked somber for a moment. “Please accept our condolences. Your father was a brave man.”
Santana shifted again, nodding to show that the family appreciated his words.
“As you know, your father had your family property put into a trust, which was created ten years ago.” He cleared his throat, and Santana realized Fairfax was uncomfortable. He glanced at Darrow, and noted he seemed intent on the papers before him. Neither man appeared happy, but that was the nature of their job. Santana just wanted them to get on with it so they could all leave. He glanced at Nick Marshall, realizing the man was staring at the skyline again. Like he wished he was anyplace but here. Santana knew how he felt.
“The estate, in its entirety, has been left to Nick Marshall,” Fairfax said. “All its contents, all the land.”
Nick’s head whipped around, and Santana saw that he was stunned, as stunned as he was. Dimly he heard Sierra gasp as the words sank in.
“I don’t understand,” Santana said.
“Your father had a business partnership with his brother, a Nicholas Marshall,” Darrow explained. “The business relationship began in the form of a loan, when Sonny Dark required a large sum of money.”
“For what?” Romero demanded, and Santana was glad to hear his brother asking the same question. His heart felt hollow, his stomach knotted tight. What the lawyer was saying was that they had no home, nothing—that wasn’t possible. Their father wouldn’t have cut them out of everything.
“For gambling debts,” Fairfax said.
Cisco snapped, “Bullshit. Our father didn’t gamble.”
“He did at one time, and thought he had it beat. Transferred his appetite for the adrenaline of fast money to the commodities market, as he told us the story,” Darrow said. “Lost his shirt, is how he relayed the facts to us. Soybeans and pork bellies, I believe. We can check the records—”
“This is crazy.” Sierra leaped to her feet. “Dad wouldn’t have left our home to a stranger!” She glared at Nick.
“Actually,” Darrow said, “your father’s name was not Sonny Dark. It was Santiago Quinto Marshall.”
Santana leaned back in his chair. “There’s a mistake. This whole story is completely false. People in our town would have known.”
“Your father was a CIA operative before he married your mother,” Darrow explained. “His life in Star Canyon suited him once he left that life behind. Unfortunately, he still craved excitement, and sought it in other ways. It was difficult living a life in witness protection, I imagine. At least that was the circumstance that he indicated to us, though he never directly told us he was in a witness protection program.”
Santana laughed out loud. “We were a lot of things, but hiding out wasn’t one of them. Dad worked his tail off, but he never…” His thought drifted away as he remembered their easygoing, though hardworking, childhood. They’d had a good, solid upbringing with a lot of love and support.
“Dad wasn’t much for going out,” Luke said, “but we weren’t in hiding.”
“It’s our understanding that your father enjoyed spending time at home with his wife and family,” Fairfax said. “Having a large family was a way to make a woman happy who had to endure the solitude of witness protection.”
“Our parents had a happy marriage. Dad didn’t have us just to make Mom happy. It’s ridiculous.” Sierra suddenly looked like she might cry.
“We misspoke, of course,” Darrow said carefully. “Your father shared that each of you were adopted over the years, and—”
“Just a damn minute!” Santana shot to his feet. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’re lying through your teeth. All anyone has to do is look at the five of us, and you can tell we’re the same gene pool!”
The secretaries rushed to bring glasses to the table, putting one beside each of them. Santana wanted to toss his through the huge windows overlooking Albuquerque. “For obvious reasons,” Fairfax said, when everyone had a drink, “your father didn’t want you to know this until after his death. Keeping his family together was paramount for Sonny. Which is why ultimately he opted to go to his brother for help.”
Sierra began to cry. Santana was shocked, as were his brothers. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her like this. She could be sad, she could be wistful, but the deep, shuddering sobs that racked her now spoke to the bone-deep pain he would have given his arm to shield her from, as would his brothers. The secretaries went into action again with tissue and more wine, which they poured in Sierra’s glass, but to Santana’s great astonishment, Nick Marshall got to his feet and handed Sierra a white handkerchief.
It had his initials embroidered in black on one side and right then, he knew that Nick Marshall had grown up quite differently than the Darks had.
“Thank you,” Sierra said, handing it back to him. “If you don’t mind, and not to be rude, but I don’t want anything from you. Ever.”
“I understan
d,” Nick said, taking himself back to his seat. He turned his entire body to face the skyline now, not just his head. Luke and Romero comforted their sister from their seats next to her.
Santana expelled a heavy breath from the depths of his tense body. “I assume you’re sure of this. And are convinced Dad was of sound mind.”
“We are,” Fairfax said gravely. “Absolutely. Your father’s estate is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of five million dollars, thanks to land appreciation largely. He was very careful to make certain that everything was taken care of in the event anything happened to him. Obviously that was very much on his mind, given the kind of work he did, both before and after,” Fairfax finished, fumbling a bit as he referenced both the CIA work they’d never known of, and the firefighting which had ultimately taken his life.
“Jesus Christ,” Cisco said, “is that it? Are you finished? Because from the sound of things, the five of us need to find a place to live.”
But the second Cisco said it, they all looked at each other.
They weren’t even related to each other.
They were a family in name only, and even that name hadn’t been real. Their father had given all of them a fake name, courtesy of the CIA, but still—
Damn Dad, you could have given us a heads up on this amazing life story you had.
But of course Sonny couldn’t have. And now, Nick Marshall was taking over the place they’d always thought was home.
And suddenly Santana realized, though the fog of shock, grief, and yes, even a little fear, that he had nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer Emma Glass.
He wasn’t the man he’d thought he was just an hour ago.
Santana Dark wasn’t real, not in any way, shape, or form. Neither were the rest of them.
Which meant from this moment on, they were almost reborn—whether they liked it or not.
• • •
Nick Marshall left as soon as he could, without doing more than nodding in the Dark family’s direction, and receiving five glares from the other end of the table. He couldn’t blame them. Their whole lives had just been ripped apart.
Not only that, but to learn that your father had owed every last penny, every last stick of furniture, to a brother they’d never heard of, had to have been the ultimate insult to the memory of their father.
And since his father had passed away, he was the sole heir.
He got into his black Range Rover, locked the doors, slumped into the seat.
Jesus, what an awful day. It was the last thing he’d expected when he’d come here today. The attorney had been vague when he’d summoned him, telling him that there were estate details that needed to be settled.
He’d thought the attorney had meant his own father’s vast estate. Thanks to Nicholas Marshall’s business instinct, the Marshall estate was large. Marshall Industries, Inc., owned office buildings and real estate in several states, and some in various locations around the world. He had a helicopter and two jets at his disposal around the clock. A driver was part of his staff, although Nick did much of his own driving. There were “help managers” on every property the Marshall empire owned, just to keep the properties in top shape.
Those people he’d just left—the four brothers and the silver-haired girl—were now homeless because of him.
And it was just the kind of thing Nicholas Marshall III would have done, taking advantage of a brother who was down on his luck, to make a deal, acquire a new property.
Nick could just hear his father. He wouldn’t loan or give anybody a dime, so letting his brother have some shred of dignity at death wasn’t Nicholas’s style. Santiago Quinto Marshall—Sonny Dark—had needed money, and Nicholas had purchased his brother’s freedom from debt.
It was all business. His brother’s unfortunate life decisions had not been his. That’s what Nicholas would say.
In fact, Nicholas would have felt that he’d been plenty charitable allowing the family to stay on the ranch until the day Sonny died. Now it was just a matter of disposing of the ranch and its contents, which Nick Marshall now owned.
He didn’t know the first thing about a ranch. He’d grown up living between Dallas, New York City, and Los Angeles. They had home bases in those three cities that were mainly for comfort, and some tax avoidance.
He’d felt Sierra’s accusing gaze on him, and felt terrible. Empty somehow. He couldn’t blame her for being angry and upset. Devastated, as anyone would be in similar circumstances.
He couldn’t even offer to let them stay longer to get their affairs settled, because he already owned the house. According to his father’s wishes, he could move in and keep it, similar to the arrangement they had with the three home bases they already owned. Outfit it with staff, etc.
If he didn’t want it, the ranch would be liquidated within a year of his father’s passing. The brothers had died within two months of each other, but Sonny had passed first. Nicholas would have known of his brother’s horrific passing, and yet he hadn’t said a word to Nick.
Now, Nick stood to gain a lot of money.
I already have more money than I could ever spend.
His father had set this up so it was all very simple. Cut-and-dry for Nick.
He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to live this far from a big city. Had no desire for ranch life. Didn’t even have any curiosity about it. Frankly, it wouldn’t make sense—too far from the epicenters of big business.
A lake house or beach house, some kind of vacation property, might have made sense. But a working ranch—no.
Strangely enough, he was very curious to see where the beautiful blonde called home. She’d disliked him on the spot, and he couldn’t blame her—but he wished he’d met her under far different circumstances. She was just about the most petite, big-eyed thing he’d ever seen.
Nick thought he’d forever be haunted by the pain in those big eyes.
Chapter Four
The family hunkered down in the living room. Cisco slumped on the leather sofa, and Luke stoked a fire in the massive stone fireplace, though Santana wasn’t sure his mind was on the task. Romero poured whiskey into glasses. Santana stood next to Sierra at the window, looking out over the vast Dark property. Cattle moved in the distance, but Santana was more worried about his usually noisy, effervescent sister.
“Do we have any legal recourse?” she asked suddenly, turning from the window.
“Dad had the estate trust air-tight. That’s why an irrevocable trust was set up, so that he could meet Nicholas Marshall’s terms. A trust makes certain that the estate is disposed of the way in the individual wants, in this case, Uncle Nicholas. Our own St. Nick, who rescued our father from debt and cleaned up his mess.” Romero handed each of them a glass. “Basically, we’re screwed.”
“We’re not screwed,” Sierra said angrily. “I don’t care what those idiot lawyers said. We are still a family. And we’re sticking together.”
Santana nodded. “I agree with Sierra. We’ll go somewhere else. Together. Whatever Pop’s problems were, they’re not ours.”
“Except we don’t have a roof over our heads,” Luke said.
“It’s just a roof,” Santana said. “There’s millions of roofs in the world. We’ll find another.”
Cisco turned from beating the firewood into submission with the cast-iron poker. “He’s right. There’s no reason for us to leave Star Canyon. This is our home.”
“I think I’m going,” Luke said, his voice soft.
They stared at Luke.
“Going where?” Sierra demanded.
Luke glanced around the house, almost as if he no longer wanted to be in this room. “Think I’ll hit the road.”
Santana’s heart sank. “Let’s not make decisions tonight. We’re all still in shock.”
That was an understatement. He ought to be able to offer comfort and an alternate plan of action to his family.
All he felt was empty.
“I can’t believe Dad never told us,” Rome
ro said. “He never let on.”
“He was of upstanding character our whole lives, at least as we knew him,” Luke said. “That’s what I’m struggling with the most. In the end, Dad was a liar and maybe worse, to hear the attorneys tell it.”
Sierra gasped. “Don’t talk about Dad like that! You don’t know! Lawyers can be very slimy with the truth.”
Santana shrugged. “Let’s not let anyone steal the memories of the happy home life we had growing up. Dad loved us, Mom loved us. He worked hard to keep us together. Let’s not let that be destroyed on this new path we find ourselves on.”
“Agreed,” Sierra said. “We can’t let him beat us. He’s not going to win.”
“Who?” Santana demanded.
“That weasel Marshall.” She plopped down in front of the fire, crossing her legs, holding her glass. “I’ve never met a bigger weasel.”
Santana didn’t know about weasel, but Nick was as different from them as night was from day.
“He seemed pretty freaked out,” Cisco said.
“I don’t care about him. He didn’t argue that he shouldn’t have what was ours,” Sierra said. “I hate Nick Marshall and his stupid Marshall Industries, Inc. Isn’t that what the attorney said his father did? Owned some big-ass company, which is why Dad knew his brother could help him out?”
“Nick didn’t argue,” Romero said, “because he owned every bit of this the moment Dad died. That’s how irrevocable living trusts work. The estate moves on to the person who is designated executor, and that executor must adhere to the terms of the estate trust. In our case, everything goes to him, by prior arrangement with Dad’s brother. In fairness, we’ve been living on his dime during the time it took the estate to be worked through by the attorneys. I suppose we should have thanked him.”
“Bullshit,” Sierra muttered, and Luke poured more whiskey into her glass.
“It’s so strange we never knew we had an uncle,” Luke said. “Dad didn’t mention it. As far as we knew, it was just Mom and Dad, and us.”